Two Thousand Words
by WildMeiLing
Summary: A picture's worth a thousand words, and she's got TWO pictures! This story is the written version of what the camera captured, only in way more than the allotted thousand words per photograph. Rupert and the princes are also included in this story.
1. Chapter 1

_As always, this is just for fun. I don't own the characters. I didn't write the books or the screenplays. I am grateful for the people who did, and that they don't mind my creating little spin-offs for my continued entertainment (and hopefully yours, too)._

 _Okay, now we've got that out of the way._

 _Feel free to tell me whatever you're thinking. Reviews are little slices of heaven._ :)

* * *

"Rupert, please. I want to leave." Her pleading was disguised well. To anyone else in the room, her face was serene and smiling.

"Clarisse, we have only just arrived," he replied. His handsome face was equally unperturbed, despite his irritation. "Perhaps if you had been ready on time…"

A tiny frown momentarily rippled her brow. "I would have been ready sooner. It's this cold - it has me feeling woozy and sluggish. Right now, I feel as though I might faint. It's too warm in here, and very crowded -"

"This whining is so unlike you, Clarisse. Just mingle already, will you? We've been here an hour, and you have only danced twice."

"Then you dance with me," she demanded softly, her eyes flashing at the "whining" remark. "My last partner twirled me around mercilessly. It's a miracle I stayed upright."

"Clarisse -"

"Your Majesty!" Clarisse watched with exasperation as Viscount Mabrey approached King Rupert. Heavens above, did he have to show up everywhere they went? What possible excuse could he have for following them to France? "I wondered if -" he stopped abruptly, apparently noticing the queen for the first time. He bowed to her with a greasy flourish. "Ah, Your Majesty. How well you look this evening. I wondered if I might borrow the king for a few minutes to discuss…"

Clarisse didn't even bother to listen. She watched him as he rambled on, a poorly hidden sneer indicating his belief in her inferiority. Something about another nobleman, and they all wanted to talk about a thing, and of course, Rupert would understand, but Clarisse needn't concern herself, et cetera, et cetera…

 _Dear Lord, make him stop talking!_

"…and so you see, we will only occupy his attention for a brief time and then deliver him quickly to your side."

Clarisse returned his toothy, unctuous smile with a politely reserved smile of her own. "Of course, Viscount." She started to say something else, then decided she was done. She had no more patience for pleasantries with Arthur Mabrey, and no more interest in evoking a compassionate response from Rupert. Mabrey could keep her husband, for all she cared. Instead, she gave a cool, graceful nod of her head and walked away as though she knew exactly where she wanted to go.

She did know. She wanted to go home.

She had eschewed cold medicine, fearful it would make her groggy. Through sheer queenly will, she was keeping the sneezes to a minimum, and lozenges helped control the coughing, but congestion was making her head swim and throwing off her equilibrium. She spent an inordinate amount of focus on keeping her posture straight and steady as she moved through the ebb and flow of the party goers in the cramped hotel ballroom.

One face, then another, then another - all adorned with simpering smiles - merged into one oozing mass of fawning flatterers. Clarisse closed her eyes and resigned herself to the inevitable: she was going to pass out.

Only a moment after she accepted her fate, she felt a hand on the small of her back and a comforting presence at her side. Her eyes flicked open in surprise; he had appeared out of nowhere, cutting through the crowd to reach her at superhuman speed.

"Let's get you some air, Your Majesty," spoke her hero, quietly but firmly.

Joseph deftly guided her through the grasping throng. Clarisse deflected attention with a refined delicacy. Joseph merely relied on the intense, come-on-I-dare-you-to-get-closer vibe that emanated from his darkened eyes. They reached a set of French doors on the other side of the room. With a curt nod to the guard standing rigidly off to the side, Joseph relayed an unspoken message that the queen was not to be followed, then pushed open one of the doors just wide enough to let them out.

They didn't stop walking until they had crossed the small space to the half wall. Around them, a bustling section of the city burst into view. Clarisse took in a deep breath and relaxed immediately, resting her forearms on the wall as she leaned forward. With gratitude in her eyes, she looked up at Joseph, who still had his hand on her back. They exchanged the smiles they reserved only for each other and savored the small moment of freedom.

Joseph released her and leaned on the wall, mimicking the queen's stance. He cast his eyes around warily to survey their surroundings. He felt her inch closer to him, an almost imperceptible movement.

"Better?" he asked, noting the flush that had alerted him to her condition in the ballroom was subsiding in the cool evening air.

"So much better. Thank you, Joseph."

"My pleasure, Your Majesty." His voice lowered to a soft rasp as he addressed her, the informal _Clarisse_ resting just below surface of her formal title. "How are you feeling?"

"Wretched."

"You should be in bed."

"It wouldn't matter. I don't sleep well in hotels. I just want to go home."

"I would take you if I could."

"Take me…home?"

The comment caught Joseph off guard, and he ceased his scanning of the street to turn toward her in surprise. From deep within her eyes, wide and innocent and beautiful, a mischievous glimmer surfaced. He grinned. "Don't tempt me, my queen."

She laughed softly. "Sorry, it was there. I couldn't resist."

"Yes," he said wistfully. "Resisting is...difficult."

Their eyes locked, and a hint of longing escaped into the space between them. Clarisse broke the spell with a sneeze. Joseph offered her his handkerchief and a sympathetic smile. He watched as she dabbed discreetly at her nose, and marveled that even her head colds were elegant.

"Come, Your Majesty. I don't feel comfortable having you exposed out here like this."

"Alright. How do I look?"

"Your beauty is beyond words."

She laughed self-consciously. "And my shiny, red nose does so much to enhance it. Will you dance with me when we go back in?"

"I wish I were worthy. Or that the other guests believed I was. We would dance every dance. I would punch any man who had the gall to come near you."

Clarisse chuckled as they turned back to the door. Joseph threw one last glance over his shoulder and stepped behind her protectively.

"I find your subtlety very alluring," she said in a sultry voice.

The flirtation was mild, but such an exchange, out in the open, was rare and certainly unexpected, and he was almost giddy - a very un-Joseph word, but it seemed to fit. He leaned over her shoulder and said something that caused her to halt abruptly, turning her head back toward him with an appealing blush on her face they thought no one else saw.

* * *

 _to be continued..._


	2. Chapter 2

_This might seem to be coming out of nowhere, but there is a method to my madness. Just weaving in some scenes from the past to show the depth of the relationship and how it developed._

 _Flashback - ten years ago._

* * *

"He's going in."

Joseph looked up from his half-finished daily report. "Who is going where?"

Carlos and Francois were on the monitors. Francois snickered as Carlos clarified, "The king. He just entered the queen's suite."

"Oh." Why wouldn't he? He was her husband. It's what happened between husbands and wives. Not that it was usually something announced by a third-party observer watching on closed-circuit television.

"I give him five minutes," Francois predicted.

"Come on. He hasn't been there in ages. I bet he at least gets a shot. Fifteen minutes before he gives up."

"After the mood she was in all day? No way. He's lucky he got through the door."

Joseph frowned. It was none of his business either way. It was just that he happened to know the reason for the queen's bad mood. He wasn't at liberty to disclose anything he learned as her bodyguard that he would otherwise not be privileged to, and wasn't going to now, especially to these two. He wanted to defend her though, and had to bite back the rebuke poised to launch from the tip of his tongue.

Carlos noticed the expression on Joe's face and assumed he was merely frustrated at being left out of the loop. "Everyone knows the king and queen haven't been, uh -" He flashed a grin at his cohort. "How to put it delicately?"

"They halted the heir production line a long time ago," Francois explained.

"But it doesn't stop the king from trying every so often. On a good night, he gets to plead his case for - what? - ten or fifteen minutes. At least, that's what we assume he's doing." There were cameras in the royals' suites, but those rooms were not monitored on a regular basis. Joseph had a feeling the goings-on in his colleagues' imaginations were more entertaining than what was happening in the monarchs' private rooms.

"She was all pissed off about something today," Francois insisted. "She walked by me at one point, and it was like being caught in an arctic blast. I got goose bumps. He doesn't stand a chance."

"Really? I didn't see her." Carlos had resumed his study of the monitors. He concentrated mainly on the one that showed the view of the entrance to Her Majesty's suite.

"Yeah, I can't believe he's not out yet."

"Wait! There he is! Man, you called it."

"Told you," Francois crowed smugly.

Joseph had retreated to his report, wanting to wrap up the last of his duties and turn in for the night. He had tried to tune out the indecent conversation, but was drawn back into it when Francois addressed him directly.

"How do you do it?"

"Do what?" Joseph asked, not looking up from the form.

"Stand to be with her all day long. Aren't you cold?" he teased.

"Maybe he's wearing long underwear," Carlos interjected. They both laughed. Joseph rolled his eyes at their juvenile exchange.

"He probably climbs into bed with a heating pad every night, trying to prevent frostbite from setting in," Francois added.

"Yeah," Carlos kept on, "they don't call her the Ice Queen for nothing."

"No wonder we spend so much time mapping out secret routes for the king's after-hours 'guests.'"

Joseph slammed down his pen and stood up abruptly, startling his coworkers. "Well, _gentlemen_ , I think I'm done for the night. If you'll excuse me."

He turned to leave, but didn't make it to the door before the banter started up again.

"Go to your room, maybe make some hot cocoa, warm yourself up by the fire," Francois called after him.

"Hey, we're going to start up a collection to get you a nice winter coat. Maybe some earmuffs. You like black, right?"

He left them to their own amusement, pulling the door shut on their laughter as he turned into the hallway. So intent was he on making his getaway without losing his cool, he almost ran into Antoine and Victor, who were leaning against the wall right outside the security hub.

"Don't listen to them," Antoine advised quietly.

They were the princes' bodyguards, and had been since Pierre and Philippe were born. As the princes were still young - just at the beginning of their teenage years - Antoine and Victor spent a great deal of time together, often acting more as a team than individual security details. They had also grown close over the years, almost like brothers themselves.

Joseph observed their relaxed stances, their coffee mugs that were ever-present during their off-hours. It was never decaf. They drank regular coffee, black, until they each retired - Antoine to his room in the servants' wing, Victor to his current wife. Antoine whistled as he made his way "home." Victor rolled down the windows of his car and smoked all the cigarettes he had missed during the day, a self-imposed restriction to shield Philippe from his habit. (Self-imposed, but strongly approved by Her Majesty.)

They also spent more time with the queen than any of the other security staff, save Joseph.

"You haven't been here too long, but you'll see for yourself," Victor added. "She's not frigid."

"They're right about one thing," Antoine said after calmly sipping some more caffeine. "Half right, anyway. There won't be anymore heirs."

"Not legitimate ones, anyway," Victor muttered into his coffee mug.

"However, I'd wager the lack of…well, you know, is not so much the _cause_ of his indiscretions, as much as it's the _result_ of them."

"I certainly wouldn't want him near me," Victor said. Joseph and Antoine both gave him curious looks. "God only knows where he's been," he explained.

Antoine nodded, somewhat sadly, Joseph thought.

Well, it was sad. Yet, for some inexplicable reason, the knowledge that the queen would always send her suitor packing, caused Joseph to feel a small, guilt-tinged measure of relief.

* * *

 _To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

_Another short chapter, but the next one is nice and wordy. I guess you could take that as either a promise or a warning, depending on how much you end up liking it. But I am getting ahead of myself._

 _So back to the present…_

* * *

Standing next to her bed, Rupert stared down at his wife's sleeping form. She was lovely, he couldn't escape it. Lovely and sick. He took in the wastebasket full of tissues and the bottle of nighttime cold medicine on the nightstand, and felt a twinge of some unfamiliar emotion. He had heard her sneezing and coughing throughout the night as she succumbed to sickness. Now she was on her side, facing him, sleeping comfortably at last despite having to breathe through her mouth.

He had stormed in, doors flinging and newspaper flailing, but his raucous onslaught didn't cause her to even twitch. So he glared at her, his eyes flashing indignantly as he practically panted with rage, but his gaze didn't cut through her over-the-counter drug-induced slumber.

So he watched her sleep, and to his wonder, his breathing evened out and his trembling fury abated almost to the point where he hated to wake her. To the point where, much to his chagrin, he was able to feel something else, dammit.

He did not like it, but as he hadn't seen it coming, he was mired in a rare bout of introspection; and the only way out was to trudge through to the other side, bracing himself as reality pelted him in a head-spinning succession of truths and revelations.

He thought of how she had practically begged him to leave with her, to at least stay by her side, and he hadn't. But Joe had.

Of course, Her Majesty needed a professional bodyguard, so Rupert had hired Joe to take care of Clarisse the Queen. When had he come to rely on Joe to take care of Clarisse his Wife? Did the queen need a bodyguard to protect her from inconsiderate dance partners? To help prop her up when she was feeling light-headed?

Despite Clarisse's pressing him the evening before, the thought was only now suggesting itself to him that spouses took care of one another when they had colds.

No. No, he was being way too easy on himself. He made it sound as though the epiphany had been fewer than twenty-four hours in the making when actually, it was the culmination of almost thirty years.

In the beginning, Rupert had not relied solely on servants to attend Clarisse's well-being. He had taken care of her himself, much like a mentor or an older friend or - he hated to say it - brother would have done. He guided her through the first years of her life as a royal with a gentle patience that had surprised even him. She had had her share of incidents and flubs. The night the spear ended up in the suckling pig had nearly been the final straw for his mother. Clarisse managed to keep her head up all through dinner, but disappeared as soon as it was polite to do so. Rupert found her later, huddled tearfully on a bench in the rose garden, and had held her a long time until suddenly, they were laughing about it.

Over time, she grew and matured, more than he had if he were honest, and had come into her own so beautifully, he knew she no longer needed a royal mentor. It never occurred to him that she might still need a friend or even a husband.

They had tried to be husband and wife in the beginning, but romantic love was not in the cards for them. He stopped trying long before she did. When had he stopped being anything at all to her?

Even now, she retreated to the garden when she was hurt or sad. He used to find her there, and walk with her until everything was sorted out. He didn't even walk with her anymore. Come to think of it, Joe did that, too.

Joe was everything to her. Was he also her lover?

After all his years of neglect and infidelity, he had no right to be hurt by the possibility. Yet, he was. It hurt; he was astonished by how much it hurt. Not because she had finally turned the tables on him, but because he hadn't even noticed it happening. Or hadn't wanted to notice.

But an affair would only harm Clarisse. Joe would never let harm come to her. He would take death first. So he couldn't have…

Unless, he hadn't seen it that way. If he truly loved her, perhaps he thought it was one more way to save her.

One more way to take care of her that was hopelessly beyond the most powerful man in Genovia.

He could stand here all day and surmise, but there wasn't time. At least, he was calmer now. Sadder, but calmer. He had been furious since the moment Arthur Mabrey broke the news to him. He had called under the guise of friendship and loyalty, but was obviously joyful at the prospect of the queen being caught in a grievous misstep. Mabrey was only the beginning. Rupert needed to know, then put in a call to the public relations man for the palace to see what, if anything, he recommended they do.

So Rupert had to talk to her because he needed answers. But he also needed to talk to her because he wanted to feel angry again instead of whatever these other unexpected emotions were. He almost wanted it to be true so he could be riled up over a tangible injustice, an official breach, rather than face his own failures as a husband and friend, his own shame at seeing his protégé surpass him in decency and self-restraint. An unfulfilled relationship with Joe would be a symbol of her love for Genovia and their loyalty to Rupert as their king. How could he rant over pictures that showed the world, not what they had, but what they sacrificed for the sake of crown and country?

It was time. He felt his hands grow clammy and damp, and the newspaper began to wilt where he gripped it.

He leaned over her. "Clarisse," he said softly.

She didn't even stir.

Instead of raising his voice, he dropped it to a husky whisper.

"Clarissse," he said, caressing the end of her name.

Her eyelids flickered. "Hmm?" she responded unconsciously. It came out as a sort of moan.

He reached out to stroke her limp hair away from her forehead. He did it lovingly. He really did love her, in a way; or he had. In that moment, he was overcome by the desire to love her again. "Clarisse."

She smiled. "Joseph?"

His heart stopped and his insides turned cold.

"Clarisse." It came out as a strangled breath of air. He barely finished her name.

She squirmed a bit, nestling into her pillow. " _Tienes mi corazon, querido. Por siempre_." Even slurred by sleep, it came out like a vow. He knew there was a response to it, but he didn't know what it was.

 _Joseph_ knew.

With great effort, he resumed a heavy, labored version of his breathing. The newspaper dropped, fluttering its pages until it hit the floor, a rustling heap waiting to impose its evidence on an unsuspecting woman.

Groggily, Clarisse opened her eyes.

* * *

 _To be continued…_

I am pretty sure I got Clarisse to say, "You have my heart, dear. Forever." If not, I apologize because that's what she meant.

 _I went to edit this chapter and ended up rewriting half of it. It's short, so that doesn't sound significant, but it's way more of Rupert's internal thought process than I had intended to attempt at this point. I'm not sure if I allowed enough space for it here to do it justice. I think he is more complex than I give him credit for being and I don't understand him properly (I am on Team Joseph, after all). Still, I've decided to post it for what it is. You can tell me if it rings true with you. (Please tell me!)_

 _Which reminds me, if I missed sending a thank-you for taking the time to review, then THANK YOU! And if you didn't review, that's okay. I'm just glad you're here, and I thank you for reading!_


	4. Chapter 4

_Highly unlikely, you say? I_ _agree. Still, the idea got stuck in my head, and, ah! what fun it was to write. What makes it even better is that I can blame the characters for any typos or inaccuracies. After all, they've been drinking._

 _Once more, I don't own these characters. I'm just having fun._

* * *

 _Another Flashback - Eight Years Ago (Joe has been at the palace for two years.)_

Rupert's parting words echoed in Joseph's ears, causing him to inwardly wince.

The door had opened, a signal that the king and queen had finished their morning meeting, held as usual over an early breakfast in Her Majesty's suite. Here, the monarchs met to keep each other apprised of their schedules; to compare notes on matters of public interest, the palace, and the princes; and to sift through projects and events to see which ones required a joint endeavor. Since no one had come out yet, Joseph slipped in quietly and stood against the wall just inside the door, waiting to escort Her Majesty to her office.

This morning, even Rupert, who was not terribly perceptive when it came to his wife's emotions, could tell she was missing their two sons.

"Cheer up, dear," he had said as he took her hand and gave her a peck on the cheek. "The boys will be home before you know it."

The queen's response, a weak attempt at a smile, had caused Joseph's heart to break just a little. It seemed to have frightened the king, who was already running out of things to say on the subject.

Then his face had broken into a broad grin. "In fact," he had said jovially, clearly believing he'd come up with something good, "by the second day of their first break, you'll be counting the hours until they return to school and take all their chaos with them."

That was the wince-inducing part. It had been hard enough with Pierre gone for the past two years, but now both of them were away. Joseph knew she had been dreading the start of this school term since long before he had arrived at the palace.

As Rupert was already on his way back toward the door, he didn't see the look of panic flash across Clarisse's face. It was gone by the time he turned around to add, "I'm not leaving until late this afternoon, so I'll stop by after lunch."

"See you then, dear," she replied calmly. Not for the first time, Joseph found Her Majesty's ability to reclaim her impossibly cool composure a little unsettling.

Then a blissfully ignorant Rupert was off to his own office, his own agenda, his own employees - off, in all sorts of other, more important ways, to his own life.

She sighed as she rose from her chair, then smiled apologetically at Joseph. "I'm afraid I'm a bit melancholy today."

He returned her smile, hoping to convey his empathy. "Everyone has a day like that now and then, Your Majesty."

Her smile relaxed into one of gratitude. Good. She knew he understood. "You are awfully patient with me. I'll be glad for your company today." She had forgotten. Then, before he could remind her, her smile wilted slightly. "Oh, that's right. It's your afternoon off."

"If you would prefer that I stay -"

"No, of course not. Besides," she added lightly, "you deserve a break from me now and then."

He wanted to counter her self-deprecation with something witty, something that would amuse her. They often enjoyed an easy, almost informal banter. Now when he needed it most, nothing came to him. So he thought instead to protest, but too much time had lapsed, and his lack of a response had led to an awkward silence.

Ah! He had it! But then -

"We might as well get on with the day. Shall we, Joseph?" She smiled at him kindly, a peculiar gleam in her eyes as she passed him on her way out the door.

\- too late.

"Right behind you, ma'am." He followed her as she headed off alone into her own full day, her own life.

* * *

It was the glimmer of raw, unfiltered emotion in her eyes as they left her suite in the morning that had him on edge. It had haunted him all day.

He had hurt her feelings, after they were already hurting. Worse, she bore him no ill will for it.

Joseph plopped down into the overstuffed leather recliner in his own small apartment, but almost immediately was on his feet again. Despite a trip into downtown Pyrus that afternoon, he was restless. Pacing past the cabinet where he kept a selective stash of liquor, he considered pouring something to help him relax, but the thought of a solitary drink was unappealing.

He couldn't stop thinking about the queen - how sad she was, how isolated. How she was probably immersing herself in work to avoid the pain of missing her children.

He actually understood, to a degree. Every Tuesday afternoon during the summer, Joseph had met the princes and their bodyguards in the gym to play basketball. This was the first Tuesday he had free in several months as Pierre and Philippe, Antoine and Victor had all returned to school. Joseph had known he would miss the boys, but he was surprised at how much he missed them. He was very surprised at how much their noise and antics managed to liven up the palace, reverberating irreverently through the marble halls and bouncing off the stoic walls. Chaos, the king had called it.

A desperately needed element of normalcy, in Joseph's opinion.

The entire palace and everyone moving around in it were a testament to unnaturally precise order and refinement. Joseph was certain his queen craved a little chaos with the same intensity that a man crawling across the desert craved even a few drops of water.

He turned to pace in the other direction, and his eyes fell on a box of checkers tucked sideways onto one of his bookshelves. The princes loved to play checkers. They got a kick out of declaring, "King me!" when they reached their opponent's side of the checkerboard, and the eye roll it elicited from their mother. Some evenings, to ruin her attempt to work late, they would set up their worn checkerboard in her office, arguing and cheating and cheering until she left her desk to watch. They would talk her into being referee, then into playing the winner, if they could ever determine who that was.

If Joseph was sad and nostalgic and lonely, Her Majesty must be feeling the same, but a thousand times more. Why couldn't he pay her a visit? They might still be sad and nostalgic, but at least they could strike lonely from their list.

He heaved a sigh. No, it was not proper. They got along well enough, but at the end of the day, she was a queen and he was a servant. For the first time since he had settled into royal life, he chafed at the confines of its decorum.

Then again, he thought as he walked over to the shelf to pull out the game, her well-being was his responsibility. Would it be so wrong, so out of line, to carry a board game up to her suite and invite her to play a harmless game of checkers? To coax his overworked employer into an evening of relaxation? To try and take a mother's mind off her sons' absence? Surely not.

Surely yes, and if he were going to try, surely he would need a glass of liquid courage first.

He moved his gaze back to the place where a brand new bottle of his favorite whiskey resided, an idea taking root in his mind. An idea whose unshakable quality took it from merely crazy to outright appalling.

Checkers might be a welcome distraction, but _chaos_ would be preferable to a mere _distraction_. What if…?

He shook his head. _Distraction_ would be bad enough. _Chaos_ would be nigh madness. Furthermore, he doubted his own motives.

He could argue that it was his job to be concerned about the queen's health and emotional welfare. However, he couldn't argue that at some point during the two years since he started, a significant shift in his feelings had occurred.

Two years ago, he would have thrown himself between the queen and impending death in defense of the crown of Genovia. Now he would throw himself between the queen and impending death in defense of Clarisse. He had spent many sleepless nights addressing security concerns in an attempt to keep the royal family safe. Now he walked his rounds as though he were guarding his own heart. As much as he tried to deny it, he had fallen for Clarisse Renaldi, and that made any attempt at tampering with the professional boundary between them a dangerous thing.

Of course, the feelings weren't reciprocated. And he was pretty good at suppressing his own feelings. He just barely admitted them to himself.

He thought again of the queen's nearly infallible mask, and how he had seen it crack twice in the space of a few minutes just after breakfast.

Couldn't two adults safely spend an evening together simply for the sake of keeping each other company?

There was only one way to find out.

* * *

Joseph tucked the bag into the crook of his arm and took a deep breath, the argument with himself continuing. This was not a good idea. No, it was a great idea. The odds of convincing _her_ , however, were very slim. The odds of getting fired were considerable.

He knocked on the door of her suite and waited for her to bid him entrance.

"Come."

He entered quietly and pulled the door shut behind him.

She was at her desk, which was unusually cluttered with an unruly batch of paperwork. _A touch of chaos_ , he thought. She slowly lifted her head, keeping her eyes on her work, an expectant look on her face. "Yes?" she prompted when her visitor failed to offer a salutation. Finally, she broke eye contact with the surface of her desk. Her annoyance instantly turned to surprise. "You? It's your night off."

Until the moment she turned her gaze on him, he had been deliberating with himself: stay or run? But now that she had seen him, he was determined to be brave and stay.

"It is. I thought if you weren't busy…" he gestured futilely toward her workspace.

"Oh, yes. Turns out the day wasn't as long as I needed it to be." She noticed the bag Joseph carried. She took off her glasses and leaned back in her chair. "What did you bring?"

He grinned - a little wickedly - and her heart responded by fluttering foolishly. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to be done for the night.

"Chaos."

Perhaps she was too hasty in her decision to surrender. "Chaos?"

"Yes. It seemed to me you might need a little chaos in your life." He frowned. "You do know what time it is, don't you?"

"Not really."

"It's 8:00, and you're still in your work clothes. Why don't you change into something cozier, and I'll get everything set up."

She bit her lower lip, knowing it was time to stop for the day, but apprehensive about what Joseph considered to be chaotic. Then again, this was the man she trusted with her very life. "Alright."

"Good choice. Go on now."

She laid her glasses down and headed toward her bedroom. She hesitated at the doors, looking back to see what he was doing at the coffee table. He saw her, and shooed her away. "Don't mind me, you go change."

She opened her mouth to say something, then decided against it and did as she was told.

Despite a brief moment where she began to agonize over her wardrobe choices - something she quickly overcame to dismiss as silliness - she thought she changed in a timely manner. Yet when she returned to the sitting room, Joseph was settled comfortably on the floor, the coffee table holding the evening's diversion and a fire dancing in the fireplace.

"Have a seat, Your Majesty." Joseph motioned to the other side of the low table.

"On the floor?"

"Yes," he confirmed, a smile twitching about the corners of his lips.

"Hmm." She moved to her assigned spot and dropped gracefully to a seated position. From this unfamiliar vantage point, she surveyed the table suspiciously. "What is all this?"

"Checkers."

"Yes, but um…" Her eyes darted to the bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. "I don't remember that being part of the game."

He smiled. "That's the chaotic part."

"Is that so?"

"Yes. In this version of checkers," he explained, pouring the whiskey into the glasses, "when a player successfully reaches the opposite side of the board, the opponent must empty one of these." He placed the bottle back down and nodded to the glasses.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"No?"

"No."

"Smacks of impropriety, does it?"

"To say the least," she answered wryly.

"It's fine if you don't want to play. My feelings won't be hurt."

"I'm glad you understand. I would rather not."

He began to pick up a row of checkers. "Perhaps another evening. In the meantime, I'm not proud. I'll gladly accept a win based on your concession."

"I beg your pardon?"

He paused in the picking up to look at her innocently. "If you don't play, you concede my victory."

"I don't remember that rule. Not in checkers."

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, it is always a rule."

She watched as he finished stacking up the first row of checkers. "Wait."

He stopped again. "Yes?"

"I've changed my mind."

"Have you really?" he asked delightedly.

"I have. Put those back. Let's play."

He replaced the line of checkers, then picked up the shot glasses and handed one to her. "Let's begin."

She looked at him, the skepticism returning. "I thought you said this was for reaching the opponent's side of the board."

"The rest of the shots are. We start out by each taking one. Sort of evens the playing field."

"How do you figure?" she demanded incredulously.

"We go into it equally impaired."

"Why don't we go into it equally clear-headed?" He looked at her as though she were the one who was talking nonsense. Rolling her eyes, she took the proffered shot glass. "Oh, alright." He tapped his glass against hers, then watched in amazement as she knocked it back like a professional, with only a hint of a delicate grimace on her lovely features. Where on earth had she learned to do that?

This was going to be a lot more fun than he had dared to hope.

* * *

Clarisse landed her checker on Joseph's side with an unsportsmanlike flourish. "King me," she declared in a husky voice. He duly placed another checker on top, then picked up his glass.

"You're very good at this, Your Majesty."

"Joseph, we are sitting on the floor in our bare feet playing a whiskey version of checkers. I think it's alright if you call me Clarisse, don't you?"

"I'll give it a try."

"See that you do. Is it your turn now?"

"I believe so." He studied the board, then lifted his eyes to her. "Are you glad you opted for chaos?"

"Oh, I am, Joseph. So glad. I was having the worst day ever."

"I know. You miss them."

"So much. I've never really understood it, this tradition of sending noble children abroad to study in other people's countries. Especially the royal ones. Pierre and Philippe are Genovian royalty. Shouldn't it make sense that they have a Genovian education?"

"It makes sense to me."

"To me, too!" Her shoulders slumped in resignation. "It was a _compromise_ ," she explained, reaching for her glass. "Rupert wanted to send them away when they were _ten_. Ten years old! I wanted to keep them here forever. He settled on fourteen, and I knew that was the best offer I was going to get."

"I see. You know, you're the one who got crowned."

"How's that?"

"Your checker reached my side. I'm the one who had to take the penalty shot."

"Oh, yes, I know. That's why I'm only taking a sip," she explained as she lifted the glass to her lips.

"Of course." He calculated the remaining checkers and, weighing the possibilities against the fact that Clarisse had probably skipped dinner, decided to let that be her last shot.

"Anyway, Rupert wanted to send the boys away when they turned _ten_. Can you believe it?"

"Can't even begin to fathom," he replied dutifully, resting his chin in his hand as he watched how the combination of fire light and whiskey made her complexion glow.

"Do _you_ miss them, Joseph?"

"I do," he answered truthfully.

"What did you do this afternoon? I never thought about it until after you left. Tuesday afternoons you took off and they met you in the gym for basketball."

"I drove into town and ran some errands. Tried to keep busy. I didn't realize how much I looked forward to those games until today."

"I wish I had watched them more, but nothing clears out a room full of employees taking a recreational break like the queen coming in." She took another sip. "Do you know Philippe wants to go to _America_ for college?" The way she emphasized _America_ made him think it could have been used interchangeably with _the Moon_.

"Does he? How likely is that to happen?"

Clarisse snorted daintily in response, much to Joseph's amusement. "Not bloody likely. England is an acceptable place. Most of the neighboring countries are okay, though France is preferable to Spain. No offense."

"None taken," he assured her. They weren't her rules, after all.

She leaned over the table to whisper conspiratorially. "Those Renaldis, all stuck on the fact that once a very long time ago, some princess, nowhere _near_ the front of the line for the crown, was spurned by a Spanish aristocrat, and ended up with a relative of the king of France. Apparently, out of injured pride, her family was determined to view it as trading up, even though the relative was the king's brother's cousin's nephew-in-law's next-door neighbor's roommate - something far-fetched like that."

Joseph laughed at her uncharacteristic exaggerating.

"But America? No. I cannot foresee a Genovian royal _ever_ studying in _America_." She started to take another sip, but Joseph reached out to intercept the glass.

"Maybe we should end the drinking part for now."

"Oh. Have you had enough?" She frowned as he swallowed the last of her whiskey, thereby answering her question. "Why do you get to keep drinking?"

"I don't. I'm cutting us both off."

"You know _why_ he wants to go to an American university, don't you?" she asked pointedly.

"I don't."

"To play _basketball_. Thanks for that, by the way."

He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry about that."

She waved her hand to dismiss his apology. "I'm not worried about it yet. If he still wants to go when the time comes, I'll cross that bridge when we get to it." She looked over at the bottle. "Just one more?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Just as well." She leaned back against the couch and sighed. "I'm awfully tired." Her eyes, bright and expressive just moments before, were suddenly closed.

"Don't sleep yet. Let me get you something to drink."

She opened her eyes and straightened up. "I thought you said no more."

He cast her a bemused look as he stood up. "I meant, let me get you some water."

"Oh. Really, I'm not thirsty. Just really tired."

"Even so…" Joseph took a glass from the sideboard stocked with teacups, canisters of loose tea, and a small selection of beverages somewhat tamer than the whiskey he had brought. He poured some ice water from an insulated pitcher left over from dinnertime and turned back around to see Clarisse dozing against the couch.

He set the glass of water on the coffee table and knelt down next to her. "Clarisse?" He shook her gently. "Clarisse?"

"Hmm?"

"Come on, Clarisse, let's get you to bed."

"I'm fine here. Comfortable…," she mumbled.

"You don't want anyone to find you like this in the morning. Besides, it won't be comfortable for long. Come on now." He put his arm around her shoulders and eased her up from the floor as she struggled to her feet. They took a couple steps and, just as Joseph was being impressed by her poise even while drinking, she stumbled over the completely flat surface of the floor. "Hold onto me, Clarisse." He felt her arms wrap around his waist.

Definitely the best evening ever. He would treasure it every moment for the rest of his banished life.

Speaking of banishment, he might as well not avoid the looming subject. "You'll have to fire me now, I'm afraid."

"Why do you think?"

"The last person to see you knows you were perfectly sober when he or she left you."

"That was Mrs. Kowt when she brought my dinner." Clarisse's eyebrows knitted together sorrowfully. "She didn't stay though."

"And you didn't eat, did you?"

"Not much of an appetite today."

"I should have asked before I plied you with alcohol," he said as they entered the bedroom.

"I can't fire you anyway."

"No?"

"Of course, not," she insisted, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you, after all."

This time, Joseph stumbled. "You -… You what?" Every feeling he'd fought since the day he met her came bounding forth in a single great burst of hope.

"I _love_ you. Of course, I do. You're _such_ a good friend. I don't think I have any other friends."

Ah yes. Friends.

Every feeling he'd fought since the day he met her burned in his chest and threatened to turn his soul to ashes.

He helped her sit down on the bed. "You say that now," he said, believing she wouldn't pick up on the unconcealed heartbreak tingeing his voice. "You might think differently when you wake up in the morning."

"I won't. Not ever," she declared adamantly. "You might leave anyway though," she added sadly.

"Why do you think that?" he asked.

"I'm cold."

"Let's get you under the blankets then."

"No, no!" she argued, struggling against him as he tried to guide her back into a reclined position. "I mean, _cold_. No one likes to work for me because I'm _cold_. No one has stayed as long as you."

"I have just spent the evening with a sparkling, exuberant woman who is not remotely cold."

"But everyone says…" She fell back onto the bed despite her attempt to remain upright. Joseph slid his arm behind her knees and lifted her legs just enough to tug the bedclothes down. He pulled them back over her and tucked them around her shoulders. Her eyes were closed again, this time for good. He wasn't expecting to hear anything else at all, and froze when she spoke her next words. "Even Rupert said…once…"

As she drifted into sleep, he looked down at her and didn't know if he should yell or cry. All he wanted was this woman. Rupert had her and didn't want her. He had a sudden urge to scoop her up and spirit her away into the night, into another life. A _shared_ life.

Instead, he settled for leaning over her to place a kiss on her forehead. He listened to the even sound of her breath, then straightened up to leave.

"Joseph?"

"Your Majesty?"

"It's Clarisse," she murmured. "Thank you. Chaos was lovely…"

He smiled and smoothed his hand over her hair. "My pleasure, Clarisse. That's what friends are for." She smiled sleepily but happily, and any bitterness in his response dissipated. At least he made her happy. Could he really ask for more than that?

He waited until he knew she was out again, until the smile faded as her face lapsed into sleep, and chanced one more kiss to her brow. The words came out in a choked whisper against her skin. "I love you, too." Then he turned out the light and left her to sleep off the chaos.

Which is why he didn't see her lift her hand to gently touch the place on her forehead where his lips had placed both a kiss and a confession.

* * *

 _To be continued..._


	5. Chapter 5

_Back to the present (still the morning the pictures appeared in the newspaper)._

As soon as Joseph saw the newspaper, he immediately retreated into his room. Leaving the lights off, he made his way to the bed and sat down to wait for it.

He was fuming, distraught, betrayed. How could he have been so careless with her? One small lapse, one brief interlude stolen by someone's unfeeling camera lens. Her disgrace, his shame, someone else's payday.

He glanced at the newspaper, which he had smacked, pictures-side down, onto the bed next to him. He dropped his head into his hands and thought he might explode. So he stood up and started pacing the room, and resisted the urge to punch his fist through a wall.

 _Deep breaths, man, deep breaths. It's bad enough already._

He pushed through the angry thoughts roiling inside, desperately trying to get to a place where he could at least give the impression that he was calm and rational. He had to steady himself before he spoke to anyone. He had to be in control of his emotions. He had to not smash things.

For her.

He had failed to protect her. He had left her open to scandal. He could tell the truth, that they were not engaged in an affair. But he couldn't say there was nothing between them. There was absolutely something there, whether they acted on it or not. Until now, they had managed to contain it. Sure, there had been rumors - people can create those out of whole cloth - but nothing solid. Nothing specific or based on reality. Nothing captured on film.

He dropped back onto the bed and fought a crushing wave of angst-fueled tears. Because it had, in fact, been captured. The moment he saw the first picture, he saw in his own expression every ounce of love and devotion he had harbored for her since the day they met. He saw love and adoration shining out of Clarisse's eyes. In their tender smiles, relaxed postures, and a proximity much too familiar for a queen and her servant, it was all there. It was unmistakable.

And just in case it wasn't enough, there was another picture below it.

One where they were heading back into the ballroom, Joseph with his hand on her waist and leaning in close to utter something suggestive as she turned to look at him over her shoulder. He remembered how he had made her blush. In the picture, it came across as a healthy glow shimmering over her cheeks, infusing the pallor that had been wrought by the onset of her cold.

Those moments between them were so few. True, they were together most of the time, but they so rarely indulged in that level of intimacy. They normally took such care when they were out in public. Even when they were in private, for that matter. Because they might think they were alone, but it was unlikely they were ever completely removed from sight.

 _Case in point_ , he thought bitterly, throwing a disgusted look at the offending paper. A guard who had let his guard down. Not to mention his queen.

He flopped back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Yes, they were careful, especially after the attempt… He squeezed his eyes shut against the pain of those memories, now nearly two years old. He still couldn't face them without feeling nauseated.

Before then, he had to admit, they had been getting careless, daring to blur the boundaries. Twice in the space of a few months, they had found themselves swept up in a heated moment, emotional dams broken as suppressed passion surged forward. They were nearly resigned to drown in each other, and they had barely escaped with their honor in tact. But they had escaped, just in time, resurfacing from the embraces, the fervent kisses leaving them gasping for air as they came to their senses.

Then the shooting, and the night that followed soon after, and they had been determined to redraw the lines. For the sake of propriety, for their own sakes. They had been so careful ever since...

There was a knock on the door.

Joseph jumped up from the bed and crossed to the door in a few long strides. He opened it to find the head of royal security standing on the other side, a serious but otherwise inscrutable look on his face.

"David." He nodded and stepped to the side.

"Joe." David entered the room. Only a small amount of natural light from the overcast morning filtered through a narrow gap in the curtains, and his eyes adjusted to the dark as they swept the surroundings. Finally, his gaze rested on the newspaper. "I think you know why I'm here."

Joe shut the door and leaned against it briefly. "Not exactly," he replied, pushing off from the door and heading toward the bed. David took a seat in the chair near the door. "I assume it has something to do with the pictures in the paper. I don't know what they've decided to do about it."

David reached into his inside coat pocket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes - definitely not a good sign. Joseph felt his stomach drop.

"It's funny, those pictures," David said, replacing the pack and beginning a search for a lighter. "It's two people standing on a balcony. No kissing, almost no touching, both fully clothed. And yet,…" He trailed off as he stuck the cigarette between his lips and coaxed a flame from the lighter.

"Yeah. Somehow they're…" Joseph cast around for the right word.

"Incriminating as hell."

"I was going to say…something else, I think. _Suggestive_ , maybe."

"There is nothing else. That's the best way to describe them."

"David, you have to believe me, I know it looks…inappropriate -"

"Inappropriate as hell."

"- but I can assure you -"

David held up his hand. "No, Joe. I don't want to hear it. I don't care if you're not sleeping with her. I don't care if you've never seen her naked. I don't care if you're still as pure as the winter's first snowfall, Joe. _Something_ is there between you. I've never mentioned it because I trust you and, almost more importantly, _she_ trusts you. You're the only bodyguard she's ever let do his job. But I can't turn a blind eye anymore."

A furious resentment seared through Joseph. His vision swam momentarily with it, and he forced himself to breathe deeply before responding. "She was sick and nearly fainting. I helped her outside to get some fresh air. She -"

David interrupted again. "It's not that. Look, I'm not here to get a statement. I've talked with His Majesty. I won't lie, he was fit to be tied. He wanted you fired immediately. Her Majesty convinced him that would only confirm what the pictures insinuate. Once she had him calmed down, I was able to advise him that firing Her Majesty's personal bodyguard whilst abroad was not in the queen's best interests. Besides, she's already made all the same arguments you're trying to make right now, and he believes her." David sat back, rubbing the nape of his neck as he blew out a stream of smoke. It was 8:00 in the damn morning and already it felt as though he'd put in a full day. He was getting too old for drama. "She is pretty sick, by the way. We're sticking around the hotel to rest and going straight home in the morning." He looked meaningfully at Joe. " _All_ of us."

Joe nodded. So he wasn't fired. "What do you want from me then?"

"I want no more of those pictures. I want to not be called on the carpet by His Majesty and asked whether it bothers me that one of my men is screwing his wife. He's a wise and talented ruler, Joe, but either he's never noticed what I have, or he's never wanted to. Well, he can't avoid it now. What I want from you is to not antagonize him. Can you handle that?"

Joe breathed through the angry flush heating his cheeks. _Screwing his wife?_ Is that what he had said? To David? In front of Clarisse? He spoke as evenly as he possibly could through clenched teeth. "I'm not sure what that means, but of course, I will not antagonize him."

David allowed a pang of sympathy for his younger colleague to tinge his words. "Yeah, I don't know what it means either. But for your own good, and for hers… I will never be able to replace you, you know that?"

They were both quiet for a few minutes. Joe stared at the floor until he thought he might burn a hole through it. David smoked and watched Joe intently.

Finally, Joe was able to feel David's eyes on him, and he looked up. It seemed to him that his boss was trying to say something, but didn't want to open his mouth until he had the words just right.

"Tell me, Joe, is there…-" He stopped and shook his head. "You know what? I don't want to know."

"We are not having an affair, David."

Joe was not a liar, and neither was the queen, for that matter. Joe was a man of honor, and the queen believed in a rule that was transparent; so honesty was a better fit in either case. David knew he could take both of them at their word. Yet, he felt he was missing something. He was certain if pressed, Joe would not deny his feelings for Her Majesty, at least not to him. David didn't want to press him. He wanted neither Joe nor himself to be subjected to the discomfort of that conversation. Still, David had a feeling that the least little bit of tweaking to Joe's statement could result in a significantly different answer.

 _We are not having an affair_. The queen had said the same thing. It was so deliberately…present-tense.

He shook his head again. No, he really didn't want to know. Joe was the best he had - competent, serious, respectful. He had no real evidence against him, just a few stray looks he caught being passed between Joe and Clarisse, a tension sometimes present between them. A hunch he had. Now the pictures, of course, but despite what they seemed to reveal, they were so…mild.

And that one time he happened to glance at the monitor dedicated to the section of corridor outside of the queen's suite. Joe had come into view just as the queen was emerging. There was a formal ball that evening; Her Majesty was dressed to the nines, and he and Joe, who would be accompanying the royal couple out, were wearing tuxedos. David had stopped by the security hub to impart some last-minute instructions before continuing on to the king's suite. He saw movement on the screen behind the new guy Shades, who had turned in his chair to listen to David. He watched over Shades's shoulder as Joe bowed and kissed Clarisse's hand. Clarisse pulled her hand from his to place it on his cheek, then dropped it to straighten his bow tie. They parted, and Joe fell into step behind Her Majesty.

The scene was over in a matter of seconds, and like the pictures sprawled across the front page, it was innocent enough, yet inexplicably saturated with an intimacy that made him want to avert his eyes.

Some questions were better left unasked, especially when he was pretty sure he already knew more than he wished he did.

He finished his cigarette, stubbed it out in the ash tray on the dresser next to his chair, then stood up. With a little nod, he turned to leave. Joe spoke up as David reached for the door knob.

"Is she… She and the king? Is he still with her?"

David turned around, caution evident in his eyes. "Don't. He's back in his suite, but stay out of hers. Stick to the hallway today."

Joe's jaw clenched. "Shouldn't I apologize?"

"To her?"

"To both of them."

"I'm certain you'll get your opportunity. Not right now though. His Majesty is putting a call into Declan to get a feel for public reaction, and to see if they should say anything on behalf of the queen. He'll no doubt summon you when he's ready."

"That's a change," muttered Joe. "The king calling the PR office for the queen. Usually it's the other way around."

In ten years, it was the only time David had heard Joe speak against his king. David shot him a warning look, but it was all he could do. After all, it was true. Joe caught the silent message, and managed to look sufficiently chastised.

David decided he wanted the conversation to end. He let himself out, leaving Joe to finish calming down before resuming his post _outside_ Her Majesty's suite.

* * *

 _To be continued..._

 _Again, I know I haven't responded to everyone who has left a review, but I appreciate each and every one of them. Thanks for all the feedback and comments. Feel free to keep leaving them._ :) _And as always, thanks for reading._


	6. Chapter 6

_One more flashback. Not the last one though. I hope you're in the mood for sappy and romantic! If not, well, bear with me. It gets better, I promise._ ;)

* * *

 _Five Years Ago_

She appreciated the gesture, really, but when they had rounded the gazebo for the third time, she decided enough was enough.

"I know what you're doing."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's…" Clarisse checked her watch. "…8:45, and I know where my husband is." Her eyes softened at his distress. "And I know who's visiting."

Joseph had no idea what to say.

"It's alright," she said quietly, and he sensed shame in her voice, although he wasn't sure if it was his, the King's, or her own. "It's been a long day. I am tired." She made a valiant attempt to smile. "If I promise to bypass my office and go straight to my suite, will you let me return to the palace now?"

He remained silent and still, and she assumed he had at last acquiesced. She turned to leave, but he stopped her with one word.

"No."

She turned back in surprise. "What?"

"I said no. I do not allow you to go back inside." He faltered under her stare. "At this time," he amended.

"Joseph, you do understand I asked more out of politeness rather than to actually obtain your permission?"

"It's no difference."

"It is a significant difference."

"Write me up for insubordination, if you must."

"Joseph, of course, I'm not going to -"

"I will not let you go back." His voice, while no louder than it had been, was tremulous, and his words impassioned. "It is insulting to you. It is degrading to the dignity of the Crown, and an insult to you, and I won't allow it. I don't care that the palace is the size of a small village. It is still your home, and he has no right to invite another woman into it." He pretended not to notice that she was staring open-mouthed, in shock at his rant. "I am taking you away from here. Come on. We're leaving." He turned on his heel and stalked off.

Clarisse recovered her faculties. "And where exactly do you think we are going?"

He spun around to face her again. "What?"

"Where do you think you're going to take me? Perhaps," she suggested sarcastically, "we could take a stroll through the square downtown. Oh, no, of course not. Not with only one security guard. Hmm, let's see," she pretended to mull it over as he rolled his eyes, "we could take in a movie? Wait, no, can't do that either. The Queen is hardly able to casually waltz into a movie theatre. Besides, I'm not even sure what's playing. Goodness, Joseph, where do you suppose we can go?" She dropped the mocking tone from her voice, and looked at him with an almost pleading expression. "I don't have any other options."

If he lived to be a hundred, he would never know what made him say it. Maybe it was to overcome the feeling of helplessness as he stood there in the garden with her. Maybe it was a need to confess, and it was a hell of a confession.

It came out as a hoarse whisper; he hardly recognized his own voice. "Yes, you do."

She blinked, not comprehending. "I do?"

So low she had to walk toward him to hear it: "I want to be one of your options."

She froze. He finished closing the gap, taking the last couple steps toward her. She saw his jaw clench and his eyes darken. He stepped even closer, stopping so his face was only inches from hers. She heard him swallow.

"I want to be one of your options, Clarisse. Which makes me no better than he is, I know that. Maybe that's why his actions anger me so, because they are no better than what I wish mine were."

Clarisse's lips parted, but no sound came out.

"I will pack my things and leave in the morning."

Her eyes widened as she found her voice. "Why? Where are you going?"

His laugh was mirthless. "I defied you, and now I have told you - my employer, my _queen_ \- that I want to be your lover. Don't tell me you will not fire me. _I_ would fire me."

"I'm also your friend, aren't I?" she replied quietly. She closed her eyes, whether to search for the right words or out of sheer exhaustion, he couldn't tell. When she opened them again, he saw something unfamiliar in them - windows on a conflict raging deep within. "Why would I let you go? I feel safer with you than I ever have before. When the princes are home, I am more at ease knowing you are nearby, that I can trust you, not only with my own life, but infinitely more important, that I can trust you with theirs. No one has ever taken better care of me than you do. And, well, I've never had a friend like you." She closed her eyes again, and this time when she opened them, they had a tell-tale sheen. "Unless you need me to let you go. I can't imagine, after saying to me what you did, that you would be happy to hear my response."

"That you want to be friends?" That much he had known. He flashed back to the night she told him she loved him. It was a lonely memory. She had been more comfortable with him than ever the next morning - almost too comfortable. It didn't take long for him to see he remembered, perhaps mercifully, much more of their conversation than she did. Now he smiled gently and offered her an ambiguous assurance. "I've heard that before. Only in this case, I don't suppose you could say anything else."

"No, I can't," she replied, her voice low and darkened with suppressed emotion.

He took a couple deep breaths, avoiding her eyes - not an easy thing to do when he was so close.

So close…

He dropped his head in embarrassment, but attempted to turn it into a bow. With some difficulty, he raised his face to look at her again, and managed another smile. "Forgive me."

"Nothing to forgive."

A chasm suddenly threatened to open between them, deep and wide, where there had been none before. Boundaries? Yes. A wall or two? Perhaps, low ones for the sake of propriety. Now he had bet it all and lost. He would stay, of course. There was no way he could leave her. But he had come too close…

He stepped back a few paces. Clearing his throat, he said, "I believe you wanted to return to your suite." He swept his arm out in front of him, indicating that she should take the lead.

She didn't move. "Joseph, look at me. Please."

"Your Majesty -"

"For the past three years, it's been Clarisse. What happened?"

"That was before I hit on you."

"You're leaving me."

"I'm not."

"But you are. Right now. You already have."

At hearing the distress in her voice, he finally stopped staring at her forehead, her hair, her mouth - and looked directly into her eyes. She blinked back tears rapidly, and her lips quivered.

She felt it, too. The inevitable distancing.

"Do you think me cold, too, Joseph?"

"No," he shot back immediately. He knew she hated the Ice Queen nickname. He hated the name, and anyone who uttered it. Again, he thought about that night several years ago. She had confided in him, letting him know she was aware of her reputation. He was struck with the unnerving realization that maybe her recollection was more complete than she had let on. He thought of tucking her into bed, kissing her forehead when he thought she had been asleep, of telling her…

"But you don't know." She laughed; it was a strange, unsettling sound against a painful backdrop. "All those moments I've spent kicking myself for being so obvious, for not keeping my feelings under wraps. I was certain I had made you uncomfortable on more than one occasion. I tried to push them down, but it seemed I could never get them deep enough. You've never realized?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know. You have never made me uncomfortable." He was perplexed, which felt better than heartbroken.

"Ask me what I want to say."

"Sorry?"

"Tell me again what you want, and ask me what I _want_ to say, but can't."

"I cannot tell you again. I cannot -"

"Have your wishes already changed?"

He gave a short bitter laugh as she stepped toward him. "No, they have not."

"Then tell me," she commanded in a whisper, stepping even closer.

So close…

He felt his heart start to pound as he watched her eyes. He saw the walls crumble, the boundaries disintegrate. He could see her heart laid bare. There was no space of any kind between them now. He could feel the warmth of her body mingle with his.

"I love you, Clarisse. I want to show you."

"Show me, Joseph." Her face tilted up toward his.

There was nothing else now. Nothing else existed. The entire world dropped away. There was no need for secrecy, for standing in shadows, because they were the only two people in the universe.

He reached out and placed his hand behind her head, threading his fingers through her hair and pulling her closer. His other hand found her waist and pressed into the small of her back. He tried to breathe as she wound her arms around his shoulders and clasped her hands behind his neck. He felt her against him, around him. He knew how she looked, how she sounded, how she smelled. He watched her tongue moisten her lips, and he lowered his mouth to learn how she tasted.

It was slow at first, but without hesitation, and they each watched the other for any sign to stop.

There was none.

All at once, their eyes closed, and they pulled each other closer as the kiss deepened. Years of passion denied, feelings shuttered, desire repressed made their contact desperate, grasping. Hungry.

So close…

But not close enough.

Joseph wrapped both arms around her, practically lifting her off the ground, as he crushed his lips to hers. She kissed him back with equal force, fueling the longing inside him. A need to breathe caused them to break apart, and then he only moved as far away as her neck. He kissed the space just below her jaw, and as he worked his way down her throat, he felt her take his earlobe between her teeth.

He groaned. Too much.

No, not enough.

He brought his mouth back to hers to resume their kiss. His hands moved restlessly up and down her back, then came to rest on her hips. He didn't think, he only pulled her closer, aching to feel the entire length of her body, every glorious inch, against his. He felt her arms go around his back, pulling him to her even as he drew her in.

Once more, the need for air broke their kiss. She leaned her head back as he returned his attention to her neck. Her gaze was above them, lost somewhere in the stars when she felt his tongue dip into the hollow between her collarbones. Her knees, weak with ecstasy, almost buckled; she tightened her hold on him, digging her fingers into his back, and she shifted her feet to keep herself balanced upright.

It was the sound of the gravel crunching under her toes that reminded her their feet were still on the earth. Slowly, she remembered other things, important things that elbowed their way sensibly into the haze that enveloped them.

They were out in the garden. They were not invisible. They were not alone. They had to stop.

Oh, but to have him so close to her! To be so close…

She felt his lips moving against her skin as they formed words, murmuring things to her that were so much more important, so much less sensible than the words in her own mind. Spanish. He had slipped into his native language to whisper to her - describing how he felt, how she felt in his arms, how she tasted, how he loved her.

It was dark and there was no moon, so the stars blazed above them, seemed to swim around them as she swooned. She inhaled deeply, the air infused with the heady fragrance of flowers.

Flowers. Because they were in the garden. Out in the open. Where anyone could see them.

Damn those sensible thoughts.

"Joseph."

" _Querida_ …" She felt his breath warm against her ear. She started to forget again and leaned to the source of heat.

"Joseph. We can't do this here."

"What?"

"We can't do this here."

He stopped and stepped back slightly, his breathing ragged, but he did not let go of her. She watched as he cast his eyes around them, and she knew he, too, was trying to remember where they were. "Oh, yes, of course. Maybe over by the labyrinth, there's no camera -"

Maybe she was wrong, and he was simply looking for a more suitable place. "I don't think so."

"Or my room. We could go back to my room." He pulled her back to him, and she fought to keep her resolve.

"Joseph -"

"The side door located discreetly by the garage, I've heard it referred to by the maids as the 'girlfriend door.'"

"Joseph -"

"I swear, I've never used it. Not for that," he added, raising one hand solemnly.

She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. He saw her hovering somewhere between the two responses, and he knew what she meant.

They couldn't do this here. They couldn't do this anywhere.

"Oh." He backed away a little more, needing the space even as he still craved the closeness. Seeing her face register alarm, he took her hand. He gave it a reassuring squeeze, then laced his fingers through hers as he turned back toward the gazebo. He gently tugged her along behind him.

They sat down, their hands entwined and resting between them. Even as they struggled to get past the moment that had consumed them, their emotions still clouded the air, still gleamed in their eyes and pulsed under their skin.

Clarisse took a shaky breath. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"I didn't mean to… I wanted to kiss you, I just didn't know it would be so…"

"Explosive?"

"That's a good word."

"Neither did I." After a quiet pause, he said, "Don't be sorry."

"But I am. I led you on."

"No, you didn't. I just…forgot myself for a few minutes."

"So did I," she replied wistfully. "I forgot I was a queen instead of a king. Somehow, it's not the same, you know."

"I know."

"And I _married_ into the royal family. That makes a difference."

"It does."

"If anyone found out…" She suddenly felt panicked, envisioning the consequences. "You would have to leave. They would make you leave, and I couldn't go with you." Tears pooled in her eyes, and he watched them spill over. Her pain was his pain, and he felt helpless. He hated feeling helpless. "I couldn't leave the boys."

"I would never ask you to."

"I don't think he would, but Rupert could keep me from them…"

"Don't. I wouldn't make you choose."

He put his arms around her and pulled her close. She tucked her head under his chin, and she wrapped her arms around his torso. So close.

Just like that, he knew he wasn't helpless. It was his job to protect her. Not just his job, but his vocation. As long as he could protect her, he wasn't helpless. It meant being close without ever being close enough. It meant leaving their love to the realm of friendship. It meant long and lonely nights. But it also meant days filled with her. It meant being able to bask in her smile. It meant keeping her safe when she left the palace. It meant knowing her nights were as long and lonely as his because she was just as much in love with him as he was with her.

Pleasure and pain. The pleasure would be worth the pain.

He felt her relax even more into him. She seemed to have been making peace with their situation, as he had been doing.

" _Tienes mi corazon por siempre. Pero yo deberia permitir que te vayas_."

He shook his head somberly and held her more tightly. _"Tu eres mi vida y mi aliento. Yo no puedo dejarte,"_ he vowed.

For a time that was all too brief, they took shelter in each other before retreating to the other side of the line they could never cross.

* * *

To be continued…

 _High school Spanish was, um, let's just say, awhile ago, so I had to rely on free, on-line translation to round out the conversation. I am hoping Clarisse and Joe said something like this:_

"You have my heart forever. But I should let you go."

"You are my life and my breath. I cannot leave you."

 _And with those lines, you've now had your daily recommended dose of corniness!_


	7. Chapter 7

_For a well-rounded diet, nothing balances out corniness like a healthy dose of snarking. Here's Elsie Penworthy to serve it up. (Okay, food-themed story notes are now concluded.)_

* * *

"Welcome back to 'Eggs With Elsie,' and Happy Monday! Well, it certainly has been an exciting weekend! After only two weeks on the air, our humble morning show has a great deal of intriguing news to share today! Let's bring everyone up to speed, shall we?

"First, there were the pictures on Saturday morning of our beloved queen and a certain brooding member of her security staff. Surely by now, you've all seen -" The balcony pictures flashed up side-by-side on the screen. "- these? The caption asks whether Joe Romero has misinterpreted the meaning of the word _bodyguard_." A theatrical wink and a leering smile from the woman Clarisse knew she was going to love to hate. "Perhaps he missed the section in the palace employee handbook pertaining to 'Monarchs and _Personal Space_ ,' hmm?

"The palace was quick to issue a response. It seems Her Majesty had taken ill and was escorted out of the hotel ballroom by her noble guard -" Elsie swept the back of her hand across her brow. " - _whew!_ just in time. Indeed, there are some guests who have spoken out on the queen's behalf, testifying that there was a royal flushed and reeling in their midst. Which _begs_ the question: if that's not a glow of health on the queen's cheeks, is it the lingering effect of a feverish cold, or -" The blushing picture came back up by itself this time, and a portion of it was blown up for a better look at Joe's lips tantalizingly close to Clarisse. "- something she heard?"

Clarisse decided to have Parliament revisit their initiative to provide funding for arts and entertainment. If this was the best the public stations could muster, perhaps some spending cuts were in order.

"Of course, Her Majesty does have her ardent fan base, those who believe our squeaky clean queen can do no wrong." Elsie made a look that suggested her viewers might soon know whether she had, in fact, eaten eggs for breakfast. "Many subjects were quick to jump to her defense! Not the least of whom was...His Royal Highness!"

Clarisse sat up in shock.

"That's right! We received a long-distance call from the younger prince, who took time out of his busy class schedule to leave a message with our answering service -"

What! When had this happened?

"- very early this morning."

Oh, Lord.

"We'd like to play it for you now...-" Elsie made a show of cocking her head to the side and cupping her ear. "I've just been informed by our producer that we will _not_ be hearing that message after all. Apparently, if we censor all the naughty words, there won't be enough left of it to make any sense! Oh my! The language kids pick up at _American_ universities!" Wide eyes and a hand covering her mouth to show she was delightedly scandalized. "I wonder if soap tastes just as unpleasant when it's dusted with gold and served up with a silver spoon."

Clarisse rubbed her temples. At least Declan and the rest of the public relations staff wouldn't have to worry about job security with Philippe around.

"Sadly," Elsie continued, not doing a very good job of looking sad, "Her Majesty has her detractors as well as her supporters." She leaned forward to confide as though the camera were a close friend. "There are those who claim to be not surprised at all. _They_ say they have known about the affair for _years_ , and point to Mr. Romero's long employment history as proof. He _has_ held the position of personal bodyguard to the queen longer than anyone else - _ten years!_ \- and it _is_ hard to argue with numbers."

Clarisse's own breakfast was starting to feel a bit scrambled in her stomach.

"Then again, some of those who are not very fond of our long-reigning royal couple do _not_ believe the infidelity rumors… _concerning the queen_ …are true."

Clarisse bristled at the emphasis, although she doubted even Elsie would have the gall to further taunt Rupert. Then again, the show was still pretty new.

"How could she earn her nickname 'Ice Queen' while cavorting with the staff? Brrr!"

Yes, that was cold, Clarisse had to admit.

"Perhaps the most compelling evidence is in Her Majesty's favor."

Clarisse narrowed her eyes warily, and felt oddly apprehensive at the way Elsie's eyes lit up.

"Yours truly has obtained a _third photograph_!"

With bated breath, Clarisse leaned forward and gripped the sides of her chair.

"Take a look at _this_!"

Suddenly, Clarisse was looking at herself, well-groomed and made up, outside of the hotel in Paris and getting ready to enter the limousine. Despite her impeccable, well, everything, nothing could hide the fact that she looked like death warmed over. One hand held the top of the car for support, her other hand clutched a handkerchief and rested on the top of the open door. Behind her was Joseph, his brow furrowed in concern. With arms slightly outstretched, he kept a safe distance between them while still hovering closely enough to catch her if she faltered in her unsteady state.

"Of course, we haven't heard directly from the queen about any of this, but if _I_ were her, I think I might be more upset over _this_ picture than the other two. I guess even Oscar de la Renta and an expensive concealer can only get a girl so far when she's _this_ under the weather!" Elsie tried to look sympathetic, but her acting just wasn't that good.

"But wait! Who is this in the background?" The picture was back up, and looking a bit grainy as the focus zoomed in to someone far back by the hotel entrance. Despite the quality of the image, it was clear enough to identify Genovia's king, and to see he looked refreshed and was wearing a charming smile. "Why, I believe it's His Majesty! He doesn't seem concerned that the queen is once more being closely attended to by her loyal bodyguard. In fact, he doesn't look terribly concerned about the queen at all! Perhaps it _is_ a good thing she has such a devoted servant in Joe."

Throwing something at the television and smashing it to pieces wouldn't stop the show from airing, but Clarisse thought it might make her feel better. Unfortunately, the blueprints for a new library in downtown Pyrus were the only thing within reach, and she doubted they would make a satisfying impact.

"So much _food_ for thought at the start of this new week! Thanks for joining us! I'm Elsie Penworthy, reminding you to -" Inexplicably, Elsie picked up a pan and held it so the sizzling contents were visible to the camera. "- keep your eggs sunny side up!"

Clarisse wanted to tell Elsie exactly what she could do with that frying pan full of eggs.

* * *

 _To be continued..._

 _I hope this chapter answers some questions that I've let linger for awhile._

 _Important reminders, in case anyone has forgotten:_

 _I do not own_ The Princess Diaries _books/movies/characters. I wouldn't mind being able to claim Clarisse and Joe, but they can keep Elsie._

 _If you've made it this far into the story, s'wonderful! If you're still enjoying it, s'marvelous! It makes me happy to have you read along as I write this._

 _Thank you for the feedback and encouragement!_ _I heart reviews!_


	8. Chapter 8

_A couple hours after Clarisse endured the episode of "Eggs With Elsie," Joseph endures a talk with Rupert. So no flashback here. We're still in present day._

* * *

"She was a child when I first met her."

The office was a reflection of the man who ruled Genovia - dark, handsomely decorated, regal, strikingly masculine. A long wall packed with books from floor to ceiling, some new, some ancient, all no doubt read and not just for show. A liquor cabinet that held expensive scotch. The lingering scent of cigars and furniture polish and mildewing paper. There was a desk off to the side where the king's aide sat, but he was absent at the moment.

It was just the two of them: Rupert behind his desk, Joseph sitting across from him.

"I was twenty-four. She was ten years old. Can you believe that?" The words curiously struck a chord in Joseph's memory. _Only ten_ …

Rupert pushed away from his desk and walked over to the liquor cabinet. Joseph took a surreptitious peek at the clock on the mantle, certain he had heard it chime soon after he came in.

11:03 in the morning.

Rupert turned back around, swirling a modest dose of amber liquid in a glass. "I would offer, but you're on duty. I know you take that seriously."

"I do, Your Majesty."

"You call my wife by her name. I heard you once." It wasn't an accusation. Rupert was definitely past that. For some reason, it made Joseph nervous. He almost preferred to encounter the king in a passion-fueled tirade. When Rupert was ranting and stomping, rare as that was, at least one knew what was coming. After all these years, Joseph was still never sure what lay beneath the surface of Rupert's calm.

Rupert smirked as he took his seat. "I don't suppose you would call me by _my_ name?" Joseph hesitated, several possible responses hovering just inside his silent, parted lips. Rupert laughed at the man's obvious discomfort. "I didn't think so." He set the glass down and reached for the humidor. He pulled out a cigar, then gestured to the box. Joseph shook his head. "Just so you know," Rupert said as he prepared the cigar, "that was the right answer."

Joseph cracked a smile. "I figured as much, Your Majesty."

"She was brave though," Rupert said, by way of returning to a previous thread. "She understood her fate." He laughed. "I remember how nervous her father was as he watched her - watched her like a hawk. Every word as her mouth shaped it, every slight motion as she helped with the tea. My parents marveled at the perfection they beheld in such a little lady. But watching her father watching her, I had the distinct impression he was waiting for her to revolt." He blew out a stream of smoke and contemplated it as it curled into the air, then continued quietly. "Her mother only looked sad. No, not sad. Despondent. As if someone had died."

Joseph felt a pang for the young Clarisse. He tried to remember what he was doing at the age of ten. Being introduced to basketball by the American kid whose father had just moved them to a small town in Spain. Playing out in the road, stopping to let cars go by, throwing the ball through makeshift hoops. Staying out late, returning home only because they could no longer pretend they didn't hear their mothers calling out into the summer dusk.

"I avoided contact with her as much as I could, until the engagement was announced on her fifteenth birthday. Even after. She _looked_ like an adult, but she was still a child. Mature for her age, but still…"

Joseph understood. How does a couple nurture a marriage when one spouse is a child? _And the other acts like one_ , he thought, not unkindly.

"A bride at eighteen. She never once went out on a date. Not a real one." Rupert leaned back in his chair. "She was beautiful, no doubt about that. Still is. I've rarely seen her equal for beauty. And though she might not have been born royal, she was born to be a queen." He spoke almost reverently. "My parents made a good choice."

Joseph had never heard the king say so much to him at one time in the ten years since he had come to work at the palace. Even after the pictures had been published a few days earlier, and Joseph had finally been summoned to the king's hotel suite, Rupert merely nodded at Joseph's apology and said, "My wife assures me there is nothing happening between you, and I believe her. We will stay here today. Her Majesty needs to rest. I am certain we will be able to move past this occurrence." Joseph had assured Rupert he was willing to do so. Rupert dismissed him. Joseph thanked him and turned to leave, taking with him the impression that Rupert's comments had been off somehow, stilted, so deliberately…present-tense.

"It only stands to reason," the king said, breaking into Joseph's recollection, "that she would find someone eventually."

Here it comes. Joseph took a deep breath and braced himself for what might be next. His reaction did not escape Rupert's notice.

"Relax, Joe. If I didn't trust you, you wouldn't be here right now, that's for sure. I'm glad I didn't have to let you go. She's safe with you. And I know you can't leave her." He watched Joseph closely. "I think that's always been true, but more so since that week you saved her life."

Rupert's eyes bored into him with those last words, and it occurred to Joseph that the king might have said "since that _day_ you saved her life." But he hadn't. He had said _week_ , and he had said it purposely. Rupert never misspoke. A peculiar feeling swept through him, heralding a reaction that, if he succumbed to it now, would leave him paralyzed and far more unable to speak than he already was.

Rupert knew.

He fought to keep his composure, even as his gut knotted and his heart pounded. Rupert knew, and from the way his eyes darkened and the corners of his mouth turned up the tiniest bit, Joseph knew Rupert could see his cryptic message had been received.

Oh, God. Rupert _knew_.

Yet he had said he trusted Joe, and Rupert never lied outright. He might twist the truth now and then, or keep his real motives under wraps, but he would not say one thing if he meant the exact opposite. Not to Joseph. So he must know there had only been that one night.

Funny, Joseph found little comfort in that.

Rupert swirled what was left of the scotch, his eyes flickering back and forth between the glass and Joseph before finally coming to rest, more lightly this time, on the wary bodyguard. "I can't let her go. If I grant her a divorce, everyone will disregard the statement we released denying an affair. They will assume it was a lie, a cover-up. I have no particular feelings of sentimentality toward you, Joe, but I do believe she deserves better than that."

"I agree."

"Besides, as I said before, she was born for this. I cannot rationalize depriving an entire country of the best queen they could ever hope for."

"Nor can I."

"There have always been rumors, however people will be watching more closely than ever now. They can believe in a chivalrous bodyguard supporting a faint queen in the throes of a head cold, but they would _rather_ believe in a servant engaging in a torrid affair with his royal charge."

"I noticed."

"So we wait." Whatever Rupert planned to say next seemed to amuse him. "The way I see it, there are three possible outcomes.

"One: I go first." He paused, waiting until the meaning of his words registered with Joseph. He took the look of shock as confirmation that they had. "I am older than you and have certain bad habits -" he lifted the glass to him with the same hand that held the smoldering cigar "- that I don't believe you overly indulge in. In this scenario, you could theoretically marry Clarisse. However," he cautioned, "I will be brutally honest. She deserves more than you have to offer." He laughed when he saw Joseph bristle at the condescension. "It's true, although you may comfort yourself with the fact that my wife, as sensible as she usually is, seems to harbor some unrealistic, utterly romantic notions where you're concerned. The queen can't marry just anyone, but I'm willing to bet that Clarisse would marry you. So if I'm the first," he raised his glass to Joseph, " _mazel tov_.

"Of course," he continued with a lopsided grin, "there are two other scenarios. You could go first. In that case, she and I will carry on as we always have. But you could always come back to haunt us. This palace, unlike many others, has yet to be able to boast a ghostly inhabitant.

"Finally, she could go first." Both men felt an ominous ring in the words, a shared superstition that, even in this odd conversation, this was a thought better left unspoken. "Let's just hope you do your job well and that fate smiles kindly on us. I do like you, Joe, but I don't think you're any more interested in growing old with me than I am with you."

Joseph wished with every fiber of his being that this was almost over. "With all due respect, sir, I don't think I am."

Rupert laughed. He always appreciated Joe's honesty. In this world of social climbers and sycophants, it was refreshing. "I'm sure you've had enough of listening to me, but I needed you to understand…certain things."

"I do understand."

"I've been considering a course of action which I believe will help prove my wife's fidelity, beyond simply keeping you on. I still have to discuss it with Clarisse. I will let her fill you in later. It might also benefit you, should the first scenario come to pass. Look at it as an early wedding present."

"Please, Your Majesty -"

"I know, you'd rather not discuss it. But it's done now. I have a meeting with less interesting people in about ten minutes." Joseph stood up, relief flooding through him.

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

A strange look came into Rupert's eyes as he smiled sadly. Gone were all pretenses, all ridicule. "Thank you, Joseph. I said she deserves more than you have to offer. But I also said I would be brutally honest, and the truth is, you are the better man. I find myself strangely inclined to be pulling for you." Then finally - mercifully - it was over. "Good day, Joe."

Joseph turned and walked out as fast he as could without actually breaking into a run. Yes, he would take a seething, temperamental Rupert over a calm one any day.

* * *

 _To be continued…_


	9. Chapter 9

_I'm sure it's too early for decent cell phone technology, but Joe had a call and was only reachable by cell._

 _And yes, I do like to believe Philippe is that cheeky. In fact, I am probably pushing it a bit with_ everyone's _personalities in this chapter. But I have my reasons. (And it was fun!)_

* * *

Despite the fact that it happened in a palace with a room set up as an informal home theatre, movie night for the Renaldis was fairly typical. It happened most Saturdays, when there wasn't some function occurring. Sometimes, if the ball or state dinner or other obligatory event ended early enough, everyone would retreat to their respective chambers to quickly exchange their formal attire for more comfortable loungewear, and then meet back in the screening room for a late-night showing.

It evolved though. Once the princes got a little older, Rupert's attendance became spotty. He better understood the importance of participating in family activities while Pierre and Philippe were young children, but failed to see the purpose behind such trite experiences as they grew.

On occasion, Antoine and Victor would stay if it happened post-party, but quiet Saturdays were usually time off for them. After Joseph appeared on the scene, he would often sit in as the security staff's official presence. He would tuck himself into a corner and resist their invitations to move closer and watch with them.

That changed the evening he brought ice cream and movie candy. He had been in town in the afternoon, and on a whim, picked up his movie theatre favorites before swinging into the ice cream parlor that was Clarisse and the princes' weakness. When he walked into the screening room that evening, he suddenly felt embarrassed by the gesture. They could call to the kitchen and have gourmet, well, anything if they wanted movie treats. He almost slipped back out of the room to ditch the snacks, but the boys spotted him - and the bag he held inconspicuously by his side. They pounced on him in a second and relieved him of his burden. He had never seen two teenage kids so utterly delighted by boxes of cheap candy. He received a place of honor on the sofa that night.

He had done it without ulterior motives, but when he saw the look of glowing gratitude on Her Majesty's face, triggered by her sons' happiness, he vowed to come bearing gifts to every movie night thereafter.

Joseph had started his job in the summer, and in the fall, Pierre was off to school. Philippe, a perpetually cheerful child, showed up for his first solo movie night looking as though he'd lost his best friend. Joseph and Clarisse sat on either side of him, and for the first time, did most of the talking. Their conversations and comments grew increasingly frivolous and nonsensical as the evening wore on, and Philippe, seeing a new side to both adults, couldn't resist responding in kind. By the end of the movie, he was back to his old self.

Joseph had behaved out of affection for the young prince, and was concerned he had overstepped his boundaries, but when he saw the look of adoration on Her Majesty's face, he renounced every last doubt.

Eventually, Philippe went away to school, too. The first few Saturdays passed without notice, but about a month into the school year, Joseph was helping out with the nightly security check when he found the door to the screening room ajar. He knocked on the door before pushing it open all the way, and saw Clarisse sitting on the sofa in front of a blank screen.

He could have kicked himself for not making sure the tradition had continued.

The following week, he mentally added "Saturday movie night" to their schedule underneath "Tuesday night checkers" (the regular kind, with tea or coffee). He told himself he did it for her, but the next time movie night had to be cancelled for an evening at the opera, he found himself, he was certain, more disappointed than Clarisse.

It had become a comfortable routine between the two of them as their friendship grew and strengthened, with the princes rejoining during long holidays and popping in as shorter ones permitted.

Then the night happened when they admitted the depth of their feelings for each other. Afterward, they had been unsure about continuing any of their usual recreational activities, but finally Joseph insisted on trying to keep movie night as a much needed respite for the queen. Leaving a very deliberate space of a cushion and a half between them, they fidgeted through the first hour of the movie before Clarisse decided they were being unreasonable. They only had a few hours of leisure time each week to spend with one another; why waste it being awkward? He agreed, and after that, the challenge was to keep from becoming _too_ comfortable with each other.

Which they managed to do, admirably, for several years.

* * *

 _Two Years Ago_

A particularly busy summer was followed by preparations for the annual Pear Festival, and movie night had been all but abandoned.

Finally, early October saw the first free Saturday in months. After dinner, Pierre and Philippe, who had come back for the festival, showed up at exhausted Joseph's small apartment just before he got in the shower. He was surprised to see the princes at his door. Without a word, they grinned widely and held out their hands - full of all Joe's favorite movie candy.

"There's something else," Philippe declared, like a kid with a juicy secret. "Wait 'til you see. We borrowed it from one of the vendors at the festival!"

Not convinced their loot was enough to entice him, they made their worn-out friend promise to meet them in the screening room after they fetched their mother. Not one to usually deny them, and actually perking up at the thought, he hurried through his shower, got dressed, threw on some cologne just to be fancy, and hastened to join the others.

He was greeted by the scent of popcorn. Entering the softly lighted room, he saw the princes had finagled a movie theatre-style popcorn maker from one of the street vendors. (Sometimes, he thought, it was good to be royal.) All the other goodies were heaped unceremoniously on a low table in front of the old, comfy sofa. It was the one room Clarisse never had the heart to update - too many happy memories.

Halfway through the movie, the princes were passed out. Pierre's final year of undergraduate studies was proving to be fairly intense, and he was exhausted. Philippe, at the age of twenty, still required indecent amounts of food and sleep. The four of them just fit on the sofa anymore when everyone was awake, but in their unconscious states, the boys sprawled out and took up even more room.

"I'll bet when they're sleeping like this, you wish you had at least three more," Joseph teased from a squashed position at one end of the sofa.

Clarisse was pinned against the arm of the other end by her younger son. His head lolled onto her shoulder, and she gingerly pushed at him in an attempt to extricate herself. "I don't know," she said, making a face when she realized he had been drooling on her. "I'm just glad to watch the movie without their obnoxious commentary. They find themselves very humorous."

Joseph laughed quietly as he finally managed to stand up. He walked over and extended a hand to her to help her up. "And through a classic like this. I thought we'd raised them better than that." It had slipped out as a harmless joke, but as soon as the words left his mouth, he felt nervous. Clarisse laughed, and he relaxed again.

They moved to the settee against the back wall behind the princes and settled down, relishing the extra room. It didn't take long before the novelty of personal space wore off, and Joseph chanced scooting closer to Clarisse. She looked at him, a little surprised, then smiled and leaned into his side. It was so easy for him to put his arm around her, so natural for her to snuggle in. He glanced at the sleeping forms of the boys - no, young men now - and thought of all the times they had dozed off on that sofa. How many times he and Clarisse had helped them to bed when they were younger. It would be easy now to gently shake them, to wake them enough so they could stagger off to their rooms. Then Joseph and Clarisse could amble off, hand in hand, to retire to their own room, the night ending like it should for any normal married couple.

Except they weren't married, of course. They certainly weren't normal. And Pierre and Philippe were not his sons. He didn't want to pretend, yet sometimes the lines blurred between a pleasant reality and an even more pleasant fiction.

He looked down at Clarisse, who was closer to him than she had been in ages. They had grown careless with their relationship. What had changed over the past year, neither could say, but the flirting had escalated and the temptation had become stronger. Shortly after the Christmas holidays, he had found himself in her sitting room. They had been drinking harmless holiday drinks one minute; the next had found them lying on the sofa, wrapped around each other, one kiss deeper and more passionate than the one before, until he believed they would finally succumb. Somehow they had separated from one another, a result of superhuman willpower he never would have thought he possessed.

It happened again, later in the spring. In the back of the limousine, of all places! He cringed to think of it now, how reckless they had been, allowing themselves to be caught up in a moment with nothing between them and the outside world, but a privacy screen and a few tinted windows. After that, they had distanced themselves, a new set of unspoken rules dictating that physical contact be kept to an absolute minimum to preserve the integrity of that final, uncrossed line. They hadn't really needed to talk about it, to state the obvious: how easy it would be to just let it happen; how hard it was to resist.

Suddenly, Philippe startled them all with a deafening snore. Joseph and Clarisse jumped apart and Pierre was jolted awake. He glared at his brother, who managed to be loud and uncouth even in his sleep.

"Dear Lord, I can't imagine Mama making a sound like that," he mumbled. Then a little louder as he rubbed his eyes, "Joe, does he get that from you?"

"Definitely not." Joseph shot a sideways look at Clarisse, who had a strange expression on her face. Apparently, it would be easy for all of them to give in to the family fantasy.

Pierre leaned over and flicked Philippe's ear. His arm jerked up to swat at the sensation, and the abrupt motion caused him to fall off the couch. Pierre laughed without shame.

Disheveled and frowning, Philippe struggled to a sitting position. "Hey, what the f -"

"Tsk, tsk! There is a lady present." Pierre's interjection was quick enough to save his disoriented brother, but his expression showed delight in the near slip.

"Mama!" Philippe cried by way of lodging a complaint.

Clarisse rolled her eyes. "Pierre," she intoned out of habit, "don't flick your brother's ear."

"Like this?" he said, reaching over and doing it again. "Don't do this, you mean?"

"Pierre," his mother warned lazily.

Philippe was far from appeased by her intervention. "Joe, arrest that man!" he commanded, pointing at his brother.

"If you want to sleep peacefully," Clarisse told him sensibly, "fall asleep in your own bed. Anywhere else, and you're fair game."

"You sound like Pierre!"

"She sounds like you," Pierre laughed. "How does it feel to be on the receiving end for a change?"

Philippe, not finding any sympathy, stood up and declared his intention to go to bed. Then, rubbing his stomach, he said, "I think I'll stop by the kitchen first."

"Perhaps, Your Highness," Joseph said lightly, his address deliberately formal, "you would prefer to call for something."

Pierre chuckled at the implication, and Clarisse pursed her lips, obviously in agreement with Joseph.

Philippe took in all their reactions and rolled his eyes. "Seriously? One time - one time! - I slipped out that side door. Honestly, it was _years_ ago -"

"It was last Easter," Clarisse stated wryly.

"How long before a man can be trusted again?" he pleaded pathetically.

"You'll have to take that up with Victor," Joe said. "He did not take kindly to being wakened in the middle of the night with news that his charge was missing, having snuck out after he had gone home for the evening."

"There you go!" Philippe exclaimed triumphantly. "That's all you need! Victor hinted at the consequences should something like that happen again. You don't think I'd cross him, do you?"

Pierre broke into the conversation. "It would take a pretty stupid man to cross Victor twice," he mused. "Of course,…" He looked pointedly at Philippe.

Philippe's smug smile transformed into a withering glare. "Thanks a lot, bro."

"Go on, Philippe," their mother said. "I trust you."

His eyes lit up. "Do you, Mama?"

"Yes. Just take your brother with you."

Philippe pouted while Pierre snickered.

"I don't trust either of you," Joe said. "You have twenty minutes to be back in your rooms before I switch on the cameras to make sure you're safe and sound."

Both princes looked at him, wide-eyed and incredulous. "Are you serious, Joe?" Pierre demanded.

"Really? You think we're so devious?" Philippe accused.

"No," Joe replied, matter-of-factly. "I remember being twenty. Go on, both of you." He ignored the curious stare being given him by the queen. "The clock is ticking."

A baffled Pierre sauntered out behind a grumbling Philippe. "Alright then. Good night."

"Good night, my dear boys," Clarisse called after them.

Joseph went over to turn off the movie, the long-forgotten film nearly over anyway. Clarisse picked up the empty candy wrappers and cartons to drop them in the waste basket, and deposited the unopened boxes in a tin they kept on a sideboard. Then they made their way out, switching off lamps as they went.

They strolled quietly through the palace, past the footman on guard and into the private hall leading to Clarisse's suite. At the door, she turned to Joseph. "Would you like to come in?"

He laughed darkly in reply.

"I mean, for tea or… Well, for tea, I suppose." It seemed the safest option.

"I would love to, but I intend to make good on my threats to your sons."

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Do you really? You sounded serious, but I thought you must have been joking."

He shook his head. "Victor tipped me off before he left this afternoon. Apparently, there was an auburn-haired beauty whom Philippe kept, uh, coincidentally bumping into at the festival -"

"Say no more," Clarisse interrupted. "I would rather not know." He chuckled. She rested her hand on the door handle. "Well, then, I guess this is good night?"

He nodded once. "Good night."

She pressed the handle down and pushed the door open slowly. She walked into the room, then turned to look at him, her expression one of unabashed desire. Without a word, he moved toward her, cautiously but deliberately, until he was next to her. Gently, he took her in his arms and pressed her to the door, closing it as they leaned against it together. He lowered his face to hers to kiss her, unhurriedly, languidly. The kiss intensified until it wasn't just their lips engaged. Their breath deepened, setting a rhythmic ebb and flow to the motion of their mouths that eventually rolled through their bodies until - arms lips tongues hips knees - they merged into one heaving, undulating embrace.

Joseph reached past Clarisse to lock the door. The click of the lock sliding into place paused their activity. He held his breath, waiting for her reaction. She resumed the kiss with a searing passion, drawing him back in, and he happily, euphorically surrendered.

Then his cell phone rang.

"Ignore it," she breathed.

He tried. It wouldn't stop.

"Don't you have voicemail?"

"Whoever is calling must have hung up and redialed immediately." He could barely speak with her lips trailing down his neck. Hell, he could barely stand.

"You should answer then," she reasoned, but without conviction. "It might be urgent."

"This is urgent," he said before branding her mouth with another fiery kiss.

The phone stopped ringing…and then started again.

"Dammit!" He eased away from her and grabbed the phone from his pocket. She watched him, listlessly leaning against the door for support and reaching out to trace her finger along the buttons of his shirt.

He flipped open the phone. "What?" he barked. His head snapped up, causing Clarisse to straighten, alarmed.

"Who?" she whispered.

 _Philippe_ , he mouthed.

She leaned forward, placing her ear near the phone. She could just make out her son's voice.

 _"My camera's not on. Pierre said the light is still off on the camera in his room, too. I know you're not one to make idle threats. Are you on your way to the security hub now?"_

"Yes," Joseph said, rolling his eyes and tucking in the bottom of his shirt that the boy's mother had started pulling out moments earlier. "I am."

 _"Did you walk Mama back to her suite?"_

"As a matter of fact, I did."

 _"What's that new guy's name? Shades, is it? Isn't he on night duty?"_

"I believe so. Why?"

 _"Just wondered. I was thinking, if I called down there and asked him to switch on the camera in_ Mama's _suite, what would we see?"_ Philippe laughed as he realized he'd left Joseph speechless. Clarisse's sharp intake of breath was followed by a seething exhale as her eyes narrowed in anger. _"That's what I thought. Tell Mama I said, 'Good night.'_ " Laughing again, he hung up.

Joseph snapped the phone shut. There was a long and uncomfortable silence. "Well," he ventured, avoiding her eyes, "I guess this is good night."

Clarisse, going back and forth between furious and mortified, needed another few moments to find her voice. "Yes. I suppose it is," she replied staring at the phone in Joseph's hand. Finally, they both fully regained their senses, and began moving at the same time.

"See you in the morning, Clarisse."

"Yes, in the morning," she said, moving aside as he tried the door. It was locked. He swallowed a few impolite words as he flicked back the lock with unnecessary force. He yanked open the door and walked through. He turned to see Clarisse leaning her side against the edge of the door. He softened at the sight of her expression - wistful and wanting.

 _"Tu eres mi vida y mi aliento."_

 _"Tienes mi corazon por siempre,"_ she replied.

He reached out and touched her face.

Then he was gone. To the security hub. To turn the cameras on in that little brat's room.

Philippe wasn't going anywhere tonight.

 _To be continued..._

* * *

 _I'm not sure what exactly the princes would have thought of Clarisse and Joseph's relationship, but I think they fell in love with him, too. (And heaven help Elsie for attacking either Clarisse or Joe.)_

 _Thanks, as always, for reading. And thank you for the reviews - the ones you've left for me, and the ones you're going to write as soon as you're done reading this. Right? Am I right?_ ;)


	10. Chapter 10

_A few days after Joseph's uncomfortable discussion with Rupert..._

Clarisse kept her eyes on the document in her hands as she spoke to Joseph, who sat across from her at the small table in her office.

"This is the third day in a row you've eaten nothing but a salad for lunch. What is going on?"

"I'm not as young as I used to be. The time has come to lighten my fare."

"There isn't even dressing on it."

"I've lost my taste for it," he lied. He tried not to grimace as he pushed another forkful of naked lettuce into his mouth.

She looked up and watched him skeptically as he tried to enjoy his meal. "Hmm."

He decided to change the subject. "Is the museum visit still on for tomorrow?"

She returned her eyes to the document. "Yes. This time I will remember to wear sensible heels. Honestly, that place has more stairs than the palace. It's exhausting."

"You know, you're not getting any younger either." Her head snapped up and she shot a cautionary look at him. "I only mean, your job is physically taxing and in order to keep up with it, perhaps you should consider exercising. An aerobic routine, for example."

Her expression changed from guarded to amused. "You do say the funniest things."

"What's so funny about that?"

"Queens don't do exercise. Especially not aerobics."

"Maybe they should."

"Whatever for?"

"Why ever not?"

"Because every aspect of it is unseemly. The skin-tight clothing, the exaggerated motions and crazy positions, all the sweating."

"Funny, your description of it is, um, rather appealing." The faintest blush crept onto her cheeks. He smiled apologetically. "Sorry. It was there."

The flirtatious banter between them was naturally occurring. It took a conscious effort to keep it in check. He sighed as he speared a tomato wedge and held it up, inspecting it thoughtfully.

She laughed when he plucked the tomato off the fork and dropped it back onto his plate with a disappointed look. He gave her a wounded glare.

"Well, I can't possibly eat another bite of this." She pushed away her plate with a good deal of quiche still on it, making room for the sheaf of papers. "And it's a _shame_ because it's _obscenely_ delicious."

Joseph eyed the plate. Quiche wasn't his favorite, but it was one of Chef's specialties. At least it had fat in it, and not a speck of green. "Oh alright, give it here."

She smiled as she pushed the plate the rest of the way over. "I can't have you fainting from hunger while you're on duty at the museum tomorrow, with all those stairs."

"I suppose as long as you're consuming gooey, cheesy quiche and mocking exercise, there's no point in my going to extreme measures to prolong my own life."

"Do you plan on following me into the Great Hereafter?"

"Maybe not right away, but at this rate…"

"Fine, then, I'll save you a seat. I bet we don't have to eat salad there."

"If there are tomatoes, I will seriously doubt whether we are actually in heaven." He sat back in his chair and smiled at her. "I suppose under normal circumstances this would be a perfect time to give you some sugar-sweet cliché about heaven and being so close to it when I'm with you…"

She smiled back at him warmly. "Please, Joseph, I just ate."

He chuckled.

"I meant to tell you," she said, her attempt at nonchalance not fooling him. "Do you remember the time Genovia hosted the economic summit?"

"You mean, when shots rang out and a bullet went through my jacket as I knocked you to the ground to keep us from dying? Yes, that does stick in my memory." For those, and other reasons. Joseph's eyes darkened from the memories - the ones he spoke of, and the ones destined to remain on the outskirts of words, undefined and unrepeatable. To distract himself, he returned to his - well, her lunch, but the food turned to dust in his mouth.

She squirmed slightly, and he thought she blushed again as she regained her composure. "I thought it might," she murmured. She watched him carefully as he chewed the last bite of quiche. "For Rupert, too, apparently. He's citing it among a list of reasons to consider you for knighthood."

Joseph nearly choked. He reached for a glass of water as he coughed and sputtered.

Clarisse's eyes got big. "Are you choking? Do I need to do the Heimlich maneuver?"

"No," he finally managed. "I'll be fine." After a calming sip of water, he cleared his throat. "Clarisse, I was doing what I had sworn to do. And that was nearly two years ago. Why would His Majesty want to knight me now?"

"To repay your valor, to honor your dedication."

"After all this time?" _A wedding present_. Something helpful if Rupert died first and Joseph aspired ridiculously to marry the queen. He felt slightly nauseated. "I would be happy if he simply bought me a new jacket," he muttered.

"It's to be a quiet and simple ceremony. Stately, but without all the usual fanfare. He thought it would suit your preferences."

"I told you what would suit my preferences. It was black, leather. My tastes haven't really changed. Anyway, you said he was considering it. Now you make it sound like a done deal."

"You know how he is when he gets an idea in his head. Why is this a surprise to you? Did he not mention it in your meeting earlier this week?"

"He did not," Joseph responded quietly, suddenly wary. He was no better at fooling her than she was at fooling him. She was fishing again, and if she asked the right questions, he would not lie to her, and she knew it.

"I know you don't want to tell me, but I can't figure out why. You're still here, so you haven't been fired. Rupert's mood has drastically improved. It must have been positive, overall." She paused, but Joseph didn't say anything. He only picked up his fork and began toying with the salad. "Joseph?"

"He said he believes you - that we haven't been…" More squirming, but this time it was him. Proper wording was essential. "Well, that there is no affair. And he said you have given too much to Genovia to have your character maligned. He felt keeping me on wasn't a sufficient expression of his trust in you and his disbelief in the rumors. He wanted people to know." He gave her a sarcastic smile. "What better way to say, 'I know you're not sleeping with my wife,' than to elevate me to the knighthood, right? If I'd known…" he trailed off as he set down the fork and looked directly at her. "I don't want it. You know me. But I can hardly say no, especially if it will exonerate you."

"I don't know that it will. Besides,…" She searched for the right words, but none came.

"I know. It's supposed to prove my honor, but I'm not sure I have any."

Her eyes flashed and she responded with feeling. "Of course, you have! Anyway, it was I who came to you."

"Only because you got a head start. Ten more minutes, and I would have been at _your_ door. I'd been trying to resist taking that walk to your suite all evening. But there's something else." Joseph took a deep breath. "Clarisse, I think he knows. He didn't say it, but…"

She nodded as he trailed off, not quite surprised. "I rather thought." She frowned. "I know he believed me, yet somehow, he seemed to know there had been something…" She bit her lip and chanced a look at him. "He said he was certain you loved me too much to risk a long-term affair with me."

He smiled wryly. "Ah, but not enough to risk a night."

She started to respond, but thought better of it. It really wasn't necessary. He loved her more than his own life, and she knew that.

They sat in silence for a long minute, and Joseph contemplated Rupert's scheme. He wanted to use a thwarted assassination attempt that was almost two years old to prove his faith in his wife and her bodyguard, despite suspecting that attempt had somehow resulted in a lapse in his wife's fidelity and his servant's loyalty. It was a backhanded compliment, a power play disguised as a favor. Joseph's title might prove one thing to the people of Genovia, but to him, it would only ever be a reminder of the opposite. A reminder Rupert intended for Joseph to carry with him into a legitimate relationship with his wife, should the two of them ever have the opportunity to pursue one.

Then again, maybe that was an unjust accusation, thrown up by Joseph's guilty conscience. Rupert had pronounced him the better man, had said he was pulling for him.

Of course, he also said Joseph could never be enough for Clarisse.

He had to stop thinking about it. His head was starting to hurt.

Clarisse spoke again first. "I'm not sure the timing is right. It's an obvious ploy. The current sensation is dying down, and any ceremony, no matter how much the fanfare is toned down, will only revive interest. There were rumors before it, and I'm sure there will be rumors after. Not that you don't deserve it, but I don't see that it would be particularly helpful. Unless there is another reason…?"

"His Majesty is not as open with his thoughts around me as you are. I couldn't say anything for certain."

She was quiet for a long moment, staring at him intently as she analyzed all the evidence. He finally broke away from her gaze. It was a mistake, but he couldn't bear her scrutiny any longer. "Clarisse, I will do anything if it will help you. But I agree: the timing is wrong. Do you think you could convince him -"

"Why do you want to live longer, Joseph?" she asked abruptly. "Why do you want _me_ to live longer?"

Damn. "I am your bodyguard. It is my job to see that you live longer. Since no one can protect you as well as I can, I'm trying to improve my own health as well."

"Are you trying to outlive Rupert?"

"No," he said, perhaps a little too emphatically. Her eyes widened slightly, startled in part by the intensity of his response, in part by this revelation and its consequences. "I can see by your face that you're jumping to conclusions."

"I'm not sure they're the wrong ones," she said, almost in a whisper.

"They are, I promise you." Oh Lord, how to explain? "It's not that I want us to outlive him, I just…" He stood up from the table and started pacing. "There is the chance, isn't there? Or we could all live well into a merry old age together, but there's still the possibility that, well… That we…"

"That you and I might be the last ones standing?"

"Something like that. But even if we aren't," he hurried on, "I want to be around you as long as possible. Clarisse, I can't take care of you unless I'm in excellent physical condition. And as I said, I'm not getting any younger. I have to try harder. Do you know what it would do to me to be replaced?" He stood with his hands gripping the back of his chair, hoping she understood.

There was another long silence, this one more agonizing than the last. "David is approaching retirement."

"He is, some time in the next few years."

"Has he mentioned candidates for the position?"

"He is planning to recommend me as his replacement when the time comes, or was before everything happened in Paris. I think he's hesitant to mention my name to His Majesty right now."

"You could be head of security even if you gained a few pounds or your knees went bad?"

"It wouldn't be ideal."

"Possible though." She drummed her fingers on the table. "It is a position of supreme trust, is it not?"

"Without a doubt. I still would have to face the task of training my replacement for you."

"Eventually. Not right away. David is head of security as well as Rupert's personal bodyguard."

"He is." Joseph sat back down. "I'm not sure it would…prove anything though. An appointment still two years down the road."

Clarisse shook her head in disagreement. "Ideally, you would begin training now, while David is still here. Then you would take over a year before his retirement, during which time he would act in an advisory capacity. This could be announced internally at any time. It would be proof enough to the palace staff, and word would spread from there. What the staff believes, the rest of the country holds to as well. It's certainly a more low-key display of trust, but ultimately just as effective. Perhaps more so, since it wouldn't be such an overt tactic."

"And I would still be taking care of you. I just don't want to leave you unprotected. I don't want to leave you. Period."

"I don't want you to leave." She started to reach her hands across the table, but hesitated. He saw the almost gesture and smiled. Under normal circumstances, it would have been something small - to reach out and take his hands, to give them a reassuring squeeze or sweep her thumbs back and forth across them. It would have been quick and discreet. Now, with the pictures still not a week behind them, they had been even more careful to maintain an appropriate distance, even when they were alone, which it seemed more and more, they never really were. "I'll talk to Rupert this afternoon. I'm sure he'll reconsider once he weighs all the options. Tell me, has he been eating salads for lunch as well?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, my dear, but in our meeting at 11:00 on Monday morning, he was smoking a cigar and drinking scotch."

A peal of laughter rang from her lips. "Rupert relates to the life-is-short motto. Embrace the moment."

"There is certainly something to that."

"There is." Her eyes twinkled. "All those stairs - that's rather like exercise, isn't it?"

"Yes, if you wanted to look at it that way."

She responded with a scowl he could not help but think was adorable. "I'd prefer not to. But you were willing to be knighted for my sake. I suppose the least I could do is incorporate a little more exercise into my day."

He pushed his salad plate toward her. "And eat more leafy greens."

She wrinkled her nose. "Let's not go overboard."

He laughed. "Maybe we should go with the moderation-in-all-things motto."

" _Tienes mi corazon por siempre._ "

"I will never leave. _Te amo, mi reina_."

 _To be continued…_

* * *

 _Thank you, Marjorie Nescio, for asking very important questions that, among other things, helped Joseph keep his sense of propriety (well, he tried, anyway), and gave Rupert the benefit of the doubt. Honestly, I was too biased for the second part; you kept me true to Rupert's character as I had already written it. What really goes on in His Majesty's mind will stay an enigma to Joseph. And to me. Heck, maybe even to Rupert, ha ha._

 _Thank you for all the reviews with reactions, comments, questions. I love them all. Hearing from you makes me happy. I hope you're still enjoying the story. One chapter left..._


	11. Chapter 11

_Two chapters posted at once? Sure! A flashback as an epilogue? Why not?_

 _LadyDuchess82, I agree: I also think they sneak dances in private._ :)

* * *

 _Last flashback, not quite two years ago._

It was a brush with mortality that finally cracked their resolve.

Genovia was proud to host the regional economic summit, and welcomed the visiting dignitaries and heads of state with impressive pomp and circumstance. The event was bound to bring publicity for the small nation, and everyone sought to rise to the occasion.

The event, or rather one particular prime minister, also brought a disgruntled constituent. Luckily for the prime minister, his would-be assassin had bad aim.

Luckily for Queen Clarisse, she had Joe.

The bullet missed the prime minister completely and headed straight for Clarisse.

Anyone with a bodyguard was flattened to the ground. Clarisse found herself falling underneath Joseph, his unbuttoned coat flying out to the sides as he covered her with his own body. The security staff in the crowd quickly located the lone shooter and apprehended him easily.

It was when Genovia's monarchs - shoved into a waiting limousine, Joseph on the seat across from them - were hurtling back to the palace, that Joseph saw Clarisse's widening eyes fixed on his abdomen. He looked down, and slipped his finger through the hole in his jacket. He knew it had been close, but as he saw her body begin to tremble, he realized she had not known just how close. Rupert saw his wife's frame overtaken by silent sobs and, naturally thinking it was a delayed reaction to the event, turned to put his arms around her and draw her near to him.

Joseph watched the king comfort his wife, and felt a desolation rivaling that which death itself had threatened. Then he noticed her eyes were still on him, and their gazes connected with a frightening intensity.

The next few days passed by in a blur. The palace went into lockdown the moment security there received word of the attack, allowing only the staff and the royal couple in. At least, until midnight.

Despite assurances that their parents were safe, the princes insisted on returning home. No amount of persuasion on the part of Antoine and Victor, or threatening phone calls from David, could keep them away. They burst into the entrance hall of the palace just as things had been settling down, and fired off another surge of collective adrenalin.

The semblance of normality returned as quickly as the next day, but everyone moved through their chores with a heightened alertness and nervous energy. The fear of what could be and the retroactive fear of what might have been lay heavily on the palace's inhabitants.

After a few days, Clarisse convinced the boys to return to school; they agreed to do so on the condition that they would be home again before the end of the month for a long weekend.

Rupert and Clarisse both balked at the restrictions confining their movements to inside the palace walls. Paperwork during the day and drinks at night were not enough to quell their minds or redirect their thoughts.

Finally, by the end of the week, the princes had returned to school. David lowered the alert level a notch. The staff had begun to relax back into their routines. Downtown Pyrus, its distinguished guests long gone, had swept away the last remnants of the conference. As edgy as everyone still was, normalcy was needed for the sake of sanity. It was time to move on.

Clarisse picked up a shawl from the back of a chair, then walked over to open the doors to her balcony, letting in fresh air as she stepped out into the cool evening. It was her first foray into the outside since the lockdown. She tipped her head back and closed her eyes, reveling in the simple act of breathing.

She was alive. Her family was safe. No one had suffered injuries or worse for her sake. She shuddered at the thought…then shook her head. She was exhausted from entertaining all the possible scenarios from that day. Instead, she willed her mind to clear everything out of itself.

She was surprised when it worked. She stood, thinking of nothing at all, and simply breathed in and out. It lasted about thirty seconds.

With the mental clutter gone - the danger, real and imagined; the anxiety and uncertainty of the first few hours after the shooting; the nerve-wracking tedium of what she had come to view as house arrest - there left plenty of space for whatever would be the first thing to wend its way back in.

Joseph was the first thing. The first and the last. He took hold of her mind and filled her. She let the thought of him expand until he dominated every level of her consciousness.

Without him, she might be dead. He might have died saving her. Either way, one or the other of them could have left this world without…

She opened her eyes. Suddenly, everything came into sharp relief. She could discern every streak of fading color in the dusky sky, and the stars popping out shone brighter than they ever had before. She watched the gardener gathering his tools, making a final round through the garden, and every motion was like a dance step, every lingering caress on leaves and branches was an act of devotion. She closed her eyes again and inhaled the scent of the rosebushes, adorned with the last blooms of the season; the smell of freshly turned earth. The scent of her own perfume as it melded with the warmth of her skin.

She wanted him, had always wanted him. Now, in this state of heightened awareness, she knew her experience of him would be unequalled, and she had no strength, no will to deny herself.

She opened her eyes and went back inside, closing the doors behind her. She dropped the shawl back onto the chair before leaving her suite.

She was at Joseph's room in no time. She looked down the hall in both directions as she knocked on the door.

He answered almost immediately, as if he had been expecting her, and pulled her inside quickly. He closed and locked the door, then turned to her.

She studied him as he came close to her, taking in every detail of his face as though she were seeing him for the first time. She leaned into him and smelled soap on his skin, still slightly damp from a shower; his cologne, lightly and newly applied; a hint of whiskey. Her senses were so full of him already, she was almost afraid to touch him, certain she would be overwhelmed. But slowly, she lifted her hands to his shoulders, smoothing them down over his arms and back up his sides, over the soft cotton of his black t-shirt.

He stood very still, watching her as she watched him, touched him, breathed him in. He dared not speak as he waited for her.

Finally, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders, she broke the silence.

"I wish you were mine."

He smiled. "I am," he answered simply.

"I wish I were yours." She saw pain and sadness flicker in his eyes, pulling at the corners of them. He had expected a different response, but all she could give him was honesty.

She stepped closer to him, and he managed another smile. He slid one arm around her waist and took one hand from his shoulder to hold it in his own. Her head came to rest in the crook of his neck as he swayed her slightly. Tucked against him, she could feel his pulse in his neck, his heartbeat in his chest, his warmth wrapping around her. He kept her close to him as he turned them in rhythm to music that played only in their shared memory. His hold on her relayed his determination to protect her from anything that could hurt her, anything - even his love for her. She knew his battle because it was also her own, but greater than that was her fear of a love turned inward and locked away. Unshared, unexpressed, unfulfilled.

Enough fighting.

She stopped the dance and stepped far enough back to make sure he could see her properly. She waited until he was looking fully into her eyes.

"Make me yours, Joseph."

It was all he needed to hear. Her words freed him from every doubt, from the struggle, and gave him permission to let go of the sadness. Nothing remained for her to see except love and desire.

"You are sure?" he asked, but it was only a formality. They both knew the answer.

"One time, just one time, so that no matter what happens, we will belong to each other, and nothing can change that. Nothing can separate us."

His eyes darkened, and she was surprised to hear him laughing quietly. "One _night_ ," he corrected her. She looked at him, questioning him with an upraised eyebrow. "We may only have one night, but you may rest assured it will be more than one _time_."

She smiled at his bravado as he reached for her.

He made good on his promise.

* * *

It had been a harrowing week. All Rupert had wanted to do was slip away for a small amount of time - away from the palace, away from the media, away from reality, even away from his feelings. None of that was simple for a king, but doable, if he had a sympathetic bodyguard.

Not David. He would have a fit. But Francois understood.

He hadn't been gone long, nor had he gone far. Upon their return, Francois entered through the garage door first to make sure the coast was clear. Then he signaled the king, who slipped in and nodded his gratitude toward his co-conspirator. They parted ways silently.

The least conspicuous route to his suite from that point took him past the servants' wing. He assumed most of the staff who resided in the palace should be asleep by this time of night, as many of them started their days at an ungodly hour of the morning. He barely cast a glance around him as he approached the hall leading to the servants' quarters - and nearly collided with his wife.

"Clarisse!" he exclaimed, guilt suddenly washing over him like a bucket of ice water dumped on his head.

"Rupert!" she breathed, her hand covering her heart in startled surprise.

"What are you doing here?" He immediately regretted the question, knowing it opened the door to her responding in kind.

"I couldn't sleep. I've been wandering around aimlessly, trying to tire myself out."

Mercifully, she didn't ask him the same question. Sorrow followed the guilt as he realized she had learned not to ask. "Shall I walk you to your suite then?"

She gave him a small smile. "Thank you, but I think I need a cup of tea." She tipped her head in the opposite direction, toward the kitchen.

He nodded, cursing himself for feeling relieved that she had given him a chance to escape her company. Earlier, he could not wait to break free of the confines of his suite. Now he only wanted to be settled back in.

"Tea will help," he said lamely. Would it? He honestly didn't know what helped her sleep.

"I think so," she said. "I'll see you in the morning then?"

"Yes, good night, dear." He leaned in for a perfunctory kiss on the cheek. He felt her stiffen slightly, but she smiled and patted him on the cheek, not unlike the way she would show affection for their sons.

The perfume of his mistress still lingered in his sated senses, and he didn't catch the whiff of cologne on his wife. He hastened on his way back to his chambers, taking with him an unregistered image of Clarisse with a guilty, glowing countenance much like his own, that would not resurface until far into the future. A snapshot that would be produced by his memory nearly two years later as he watched her eyes flutter open, a profession of love for someone else still lingering on her smiling lips…

The End

* * *

 _I am not convinced they engaged in any inappropriate behavior while Rupert was alive, but I couldn't resist the what-ifs._

 _Thanks for reading along. I hope I kept you entertained. And thanks for the reviews - I hang on to your every word. Truly, they make me very happy._


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